


ocean eyes

by windsthatwhisper



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Sex, Aquariums, Blow Jobs, Charleston, Getting Together, Light Feminization, Lockout Shenanigans, M/M, Miscommunication, Oral Sex, Pining, Prostate Milking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-12
Updated: 2020-09-12
Packaged: 2021-03-06 20:01:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 32,251
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26424520
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/windsthatwhisper/pseuds/windsthatwhisper
Summary: Patrick laughs so hard he has to lean against the wall. “You’re telling me you bent over in wet swim trunks, and your ass was so big that they ripped?”“I don’t see anything funny about it.” Jonny huffs, arms crossed while Patrick slides to the floor in a gasping heap.Alternate summary: Jonny takes a trip to Charleston, South Carolina in the wake of the 2012 playoff ejection. There, he meets Patrick Kane, a marine biologist who has no business looking that hot while pulling plastic from a sea turtle’s mouth.
Relationships: Patrick Kane/Jonathan Toews
Comments: 33
Kudos: 224
Collections: 1988: Locked In





	1. part one

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks a bunch to the masterminds behind the 1988 Quaranthon! This was super fun and gave me the inspiration to finally finish this thing that’s been sitting in my drafts for two years. 
> 
> Special thanks to my good friend Caroline who beta’d this for me! 
> 
> Set at the end of the 2011-12 season and through the 2012 NHL lockout

_June 2012_   
  


They’re out of the playoffs by May. First round, by the Coyotes. Of all teams. 

He spends May going back and forth between Winnipeg and Chicago, sulking and training and checking in with the trainers. He’s finally ready to settle in Chicago for the near future starting the first week of June, but Sharpy barges into his home on the tenth with his tiny blonde daughter on his back. 

“Maddy would like to make a request.”

Jonny raises an eyebrow curiously and nods at her to go on. Maddy lifts her head a little more, motioning with a slim finger for him to come closer. He approaches, bends down to her eye level, and waits.

“No sad,” she tells him, and smacks him hard on the arm. 

“Ow!” He yelps, jumping backwards.

“Maddy.” Sharpy warns, but doesn’t have any heat to it, because he’s a dick and thoroughly enjoys seeing Jonny suffer at the wrath of his girl.

“We’re going to Charleston,” Sharpy says, “You're coming with us.”

Jonny‘s still rubbing the tiny red spot on his bicep where she whacked him. “Oh yeah?”

Sharpy nods at him. “Yeah. I’m tired of seeing you mope. We’re spending three weeks in Charleston, and Abby misses you.”

Jonny is a grown man who gets major concussions and beats people up for a living. He is definitely _not_ getting wishy-washy over the Sharp girls asking him to come on their family vacation with them. Absolutely not.

“Yeah?” Jonny asks again, fainter than he would have liked. 

“Yeah, Jon,” Sharpy smiles at him, all-knowing and wise despite how much of an asshole he is, “Pack your shit. We leave Saturday.”

——

Baby Sharp does not like airplanes. At all. So much so that they’re going to _drive_ fourteen hours from Illinois to South Carolina. Jonny would mind, except that Maddy is actually a very good car rider. She gets antsy after not moving for a while, but Jonny thinks that the stretch breaks and a bathroom stop every four hours is worth it. When she gets bored, Abby gives her a snack, pops in a movie and they’re good to go. 

He’s stuffed in the middle, Maddy and her massive car seat beside him, with Abby in shotgun and Sharpy as the driver. He plays the license plate game with them the entire time, and keeps tally marks in the notes section of his phone to keep track whenever someone shouts out a state. 

Maddy takes a power nap halfway through the trip, but bounces back a couple hours later. By the time they’ve only got three hours left ahead of them, she falls asleep and stays asleep until they reach the hotel. He and Abby talk for a while afterwards, both of them pointedly ignoring Sharpy. Abby’s got a bright personality, sharp and doesn’t take anyone’s shit, but there’s a gentleness to her that Jonny can relax around. He falls asleep with an AirPod jammed in one ear while he listens to Abby’s story with the other. 

He wakes as soon as Sharpy pulls into the parking lot of the Tides Folly Beach Hotel. He helps Sharpy carry in all the luggage while Abby gets the payments settled. Maddy is half-asleep and hanging off his back as the two men ride the elevator and trudge down the hallway to get to their rooms.

Jonny’s got his own room, but it’s got a connecting door so that they have easy access to each other. Jonny drops his luggage, then the girl on his back onto the bed. Maddy curls into a ball immediately and sinks into the mattress.

“So, what’s the plan for tomorrow?” Jonny asks, helping Abby tuck the girls into their own bed. 

“We think Mads will love the aquarium,” Sharpy says to him, “We’ll probably hit there first.” At Jonny’s nod, he adds, “This is your vacation, too. If there’s some place you wanna go, or if you want to do something alone, just let us know.”

Jonny smiles at him, punching him lightly on the shoulder. “Yeah man, I will.”

He flees to his room before he does something embarrassing, like hug him. He brushes his teeth and gets changed into his pajamas, unzipping his duffel bag to grab his book. He means to read it, he really does, but as soon as his head hits the pillow, he’s out.

——

The aquarium is settled around a patch of trees and rests at the very end of a brick pathway. The Cooper River is less than a football field away. 

“That’s a lot of glass for a building with a bunch of wild animals inside.” Jonny says as they step into the line leading to the ticket booth.

“They can’t escape, Tazer,” Sharpy snorts at him, fishing out his debit card from his wallet, “Besides, I’m sure it’s polycarbonate or something.”

Jonny grumbles to himself but lets the matter drop. 

Maddy’s dolled up in a pretty blue sundress and belt-buckle shoes. She’s at that age where she doesn’t really like shoes, so Jonny keeps an eye on them as they make their way to the ticket booth to make sure she doesn’t send them flying.

He pays for his own ticket — he’s not that much of an asshole, okay; his mother raised him right — and agrees to take a picture with Maddy in front of the river right before the entrance to the rest of the aquarium. She’s got a fistful of his hair in one hand, fingers of the other hand stuck in her mouth, and pointedly ignores the look on Sharpy’s face when Jonny asks to send him the pictures. 

The Shallows are the first section of the aquarium. There’s a large glass pane that barricades the people from the water outside. Maddy’s hand is clutching tight to Jonny’s hair, keeping him in place while they stare through the glass at the rushing water of the lake.

He crouches down beside her so that he’s at her eye level. “See any dolphins?”

She looks at him with big eyes. “Do-feens?” 

Jonny nods sagely. “Dolphins.”

Maddy gapes at him, all wide-eyed wonder. She turns to stare out the glass while Abby tries to force Sharpy to pet the rays. After a moment, Maddy gasps and tries to faceplant against the glass. Jonny’s got quick reflexes, though. “Do-feens!”

Out in the water, a dolphin’s fin pokes out of the water for a brief moment, before disappearing back beneath the surface. Jonny smiles proudly down at her, “Well look at that.” Maddy beams at him, pleased. 

When Jonny hands Maddy over to her mother, he finds Sharpy hanging by the wall, away from where his wife is petting the rays. 

“Don’t you want to touch a stingray?” Jonny asks, all faux-innocence.

Sharpy glares daggers into his skull. “Don’t even try me.”

Upon entrance to the actual aquarium space, there’s a giant tank with coral and fish swimming about. Maddy gets bored with that pretty quickly, so Abby shepherds them to the turtle rescue. There are four loggerheads scattered across six tanks, two of which are empty. There’s a window to the operating room, as well, and though there aren’t any turtles currently getting surgery, Maddy looks horrified at the realization that the turtles in the tanks are hurt. Sharpy swoops in and saves the day, scooping her up and walking down to the Great Ocean tank. 

“Dada!” Maddy squeals from her father’s arms, tugging on his hair, “Buh!”

She points at another loggerhead swimming around in the tank with the fish. Sharpy gets closer to the glass in hopes that she’ll lessen her death-grip on his hair. 

A kid across the room shouts, “Mom, there’s a diver!” 

And he’s right, there’s a diver down in the corner of the tank, cleaning off some of the algae. One of the kids in the room frowns, despite the others staring at the diver in awe. “Diver scare the fish?”

“He might,” a voice says behind him, and Jonny spins around, “They don’t really mind, though. Andy tries to avoid the animals as much as possible so they can go about their day without being disturbed.”

“What kind of fish are in the tank?” Abby asks the man, who’s dressed in blues and tans and is wearing a lanyard that tells Jonny that he works here. The man answers Abby, but Jonny’s too busy staring at his face. 

It’s— a really nice face. It’s not that Jonny didn’t know he was bi, but it’s startling to lay eyes on a guy and not be able to take his eyes off of him. Jonny’s been able to look at women and think _wow,_ but Jonny takes one — long, very long — look at this guy in front of him and can’t think of a thing. 

His hair is a god-awful mess, blond curls askew and falling into his eyes; eyes that are a shocking blue that reminds Jonny of the ocean on their way through to the mainland this morning. His teeth sink into his bottom lip in amusement as Maddy gurgles about fish, or something. Jonny’s not sure. He’s distracted.

He gathers his wits enough to wipe the dumbstruck look off his face when the man straightens back up and looks at him. “Enjoying the aquarium?” 

Jonny nods, willing his nerves to chill. He’s a twenty-four year old, damnit; he’s not about to lose his cool because a pretty boy is smiling at him. It’s a wonderful smile. There’s a gap between his two front teeth.

“Yeah, it’s great,” he says, then sticks out his hand, “I’m Jonny.”

“Patrick,” the guy replies and takes Jonny’s hand. It’s warm against his palm, smooth in contrast to the hockey callouses littered across the bends of Jonny’s fingers, “I’m glad.”

He can feel the conversation dying, so he quickly asks, “So, you work here,” then winces because duh, Jonny. Of course he does.

Patrick doesn’t seem to mind Jonny’s stupidity, just smiles and nods his confirmation. “Second year here. I actually just finished my bachelor’s in marine biology last year.”

“Oh really?” He says, and ignores Sharpy shooing the girls away with a giant smirk on his face. “That’s pretty cool. Where did you go to school?” He crosses his arms over his chest, fingers curling over his biceps and hopes it’s coming off as attractive. 

Patrick just continues to smile at him, but he seems genuine. “The College of Charleston.”

“Yeah? That’s cool. You must know your way around the mainland pretty well.” At Patrick’s nod, he adds, “Got any ideas on what to do? My friends and I are on vacation for a while.”

He grimaces, then, at the reminder of why he’s in South Carolina in June, and not at the United Center getting ready for the next round. 

Patrick must see the look on his face, because he says, “Sucks about your season. But hopefully Charleston can make up for it, at least somewhat. There’s a lot to do.”

Jonny perks up at the mention of the season, because that means— “You watch hockey?”

Patrick’s cheeks get pink around his apples, caught. “I, uh, I’m a pretty big Sabres fan, not gonna lie,” and he laughs at Jonny’s face when he says it. “I do tune into the Hawks, though. No one could stop talking about the team when you won the Cup in 2010. Couldn’t get away from you guys after that.”

Jonny puffs out his chest despite his best efforts not to. “We’ll get back there.”

Patrick’s smile gets a little soft around the edges. “I wish you guys luck.”

“Thank you,” Jonny says sincerely. When he turns, he realizes that the Sharps have betrayed him and left him for dead. He huffs. “I should go find my friends.”

Patrick's mouth droops into a frown, but in a flash it’s replaced with another big smile. “Of course. Enjoy the rest of the aquarium. I hope to see you around.”

Jonny nods, “Definitely.”

He’s hating himself more and more as he replays their conversation, and by the time he finds Sharpy, he wants to toss himself over the railing. They’ve gone upstairs and are looking at all the jellyfish and seahorses when Jonny gets to them.

“So,” Abby asks while Maddy drags her father around to the tanks, “Who was that?”

“Just one of the workers,” Jonny answers defensively, but when Abby raises a perfectly-shaped eyebrow at him, he ducks his head and adds, “His name was Patrick.”

“Patrick,” she says, taking a picture from afar of Sharpy trying to balance Maddy in his arms as she squirms around, “Interesting.”

“It’s not a thing,” says Jonny.

“Interesting,” repeats Abby, and then she walks away. 

Jonny follows behind helplessly. “It’s not!”

There’s another TouchTank where the girls happily hold starfish and pet horseshoe crabs. The Saltmarsh Aviary has a lot of birds that squawk at Jonny when he passes. He holds up his hands in surrender, but when a heron yells at him, he hurries away. 

Jonny had been a little excited to go see the otters, but someone says something in passing about a fish show going on downstairs by the Great Ocean tank, and Maddy is immediately set on going. 

_“Fish!”_ She shrieks, even though Abby and Sharpy both wanted to go forward.

“I’ll take her,” Jonny tells them, hoping to avoid a meltdown, and because he's a good friend and knows that Sharpy wants to woo Abby with terrible jokes about birds. 

They have to hurry to make it on time, backtracking through the exhibits they just went through and down the stairs to get back to the tank on the first floor. There’s already a cluster of kids and parents sitting on the floor in front of the tank, waiting for the event to start. There’s a blank pull-down screen hanging down with the login screen of a Windows computer brightly displayed.

Maddy sits on Jonny’s lap, babbling about something — maybe a turtle? — when the lights dim and the Windows login screen unlocks and pulls up the title slide of a PowerPoint. 

“Alright, hi guys!” The speaker announces, coming into view, and oh — it’s Patrick.

The kids cheer as a diver floats slowly down to the bottom of the tank, but Jonny’s eyes are on Patrick, how genuine and happy his smile is at the kids’ excitement. He’s got a mic by his mouth that’s hooked around his ear, which draws Jonny’s attention from the beam of his smile to the lips that are shaping it. 

“This is a short little seminar that’s going to run through some of the cool animals we have here in our Great Ocean tank,” Patrick tells the crowd, “Pay attention, because there’s going to be some pictures at the end that you’ll be asked to recognize. If you get it right, you get a prize!”

The kids break into screams again at the thought of winning a prize. Patrick’s eyes settle on Jonny for a brief moment, and he waves at him before starting the presentation. 

“So the cool thing about this tank is that it’s over three hundred _thousand_ gallons.” Patrick says, and the kids _‘ooo’_ at him. 

“Woah,” Maddy whispers to Jonny, even though he’s pretty sure she doesn’t understand the magnitude of the number. 

“Does anyone know how many animals are in our tank?” Patrick asks.

The kids in the crowd start yelling out answers, numbers like one hundred, three-fifty, and an adult who says twenty-one hundred. 

“Seven,” mumbles Jonny sarcastically, but somehow Patrick must hear him, because he meets Jonny’s eyes and stifles his laughter by biting his lip. 

“Super close, you guys!” Patrick grins, “We’ve got forty different species here, and all in all, we’ve actually got about six hundred individual animals swimming around in our Great Ocean tank.”

Maddy’s hand holds tight to Jonny’s shirt. “Big!”

“Our tank is home to tons of different ocean animals that can all be found along South Carolina’s coasts,” Patrick continues, “We’ve got catfish, sturgeons, rays, sharks, and even the great homosapien. But don’t worry, he won’t bite: this one doesn’t like meat.” 

The kids around him giggle, even though most of them don’t know what a homosapien is. 

“If everyone will turn their attention to the screen,” Patrick presses a clicker that changes the slide on the PowerPoint to a white screen, “Here’s your first chance to win a prize. Can anyone tell me what this animal is?”

Every few seconds, small squares appear onto the screen, slowly piecing together an animal. Jonny can tell two squares in that it’s a shark.

It takes five squares for a boy to shout, “Shark! It’s a shark!”

“That’s right!” Patrick cheers. He digs around in a bag behind him and pulls out a shark stuffed animal. He hands it to the boy, who stands up, thrusts the shark into the air, and hollers in victory. 

Patrick looks very amused. “We’ve got a couple of sharks in our tank,” he says as one of said sharks swims past, gathering every lick of attention from the little ones, “This guy right here is called a Sand Tiger Shark, or, the _Carcharias taurus,_ but we just call him Bill,” — the kids seem to get a kick out of that — “One cool thing about him and his friends is that they’re pretty slow swimmers, especially in comparison to Great Whites.”

He goes on for a bit, telling the children fun facts that even draw the attention of some of the adults. Jonny tries to pay attention, he really does; but he finds his focus on the way the fabric of Patrick’s shirt strains against his shoulders rather than the fact that people used to burn the oil in shark livers for light. 

Patrick talks about the fish in the tank, the bass and the carp and the catfish. He pulls up pictures for the kids to guess each time, and always pulls a stuffed animal or toy out of his bag of mystery. He talks about the rays, and the diver entertains everyone by trying to chase one of them around. 

The eels catch Jonny’s attention, and the kids go on a hunt to find the eel hiding somewhere in the tank.

“Remember,” Patrick sing-songs, “Touching the tank makes the animals sick, so please keep your hands off the glass.”

Maddy doesn’t want to go with the group, so she sits content in Jonny’s arms, chewing on her fingers while Jonny has a conversation with Patrick with their eyes. He only gets a few moments before someone yells that they found the eel, and why is it breathing so weird?

“It’s a turtle!” A boy gasps, and his tiny sister stands on wobbly legs to screech, _“Tuttle!”,_ then falls back on her butt.

“That’s our buddy, Caretta,” grins Patrick, “She’s a loggerhead sea turtle, and is the only turtle in the Great Ocean tank. She’s two hundred and twenty pounds!”

“Woah,” the kids gasp.

The diver mimics the turtle’s movements, and the children erupt into giggles. Patrick gathers everyone’s attention again by pulling up another blank screen. The kids drop everything and stare at it. It’s prize time. “This is our last picture, ready? Can anyone tell me what this is?”

Even Jonny’s struggling with the picture, unsure of what type of fish he’s looking at. It takes four squares for Maddy to bounce up and down on her chubby little legs, hand fisted in Jonny’s shirt, and yell, “Fish!”

She giggles when Patrick says, “That’s right! It is a fish!” He walks over and hands her a plush fish. Maddy holds onto it as if it’s her life’s mission. 

“Can anyone tell me what kind of fish it is?” Patrick asks as he heads back up to the front of the tank to stand beside where the diver has settled on the bottom. He tosses a stuffed cobia fish at the teenager who gets it right. 

“That’s all for today, guys! There’s a special dive show at three thirty where one of our divers will walk you through feeding all of the animals in the tank, if you’d like to stop by. Thanks for coming!”

The crowd disperses slowly, most people approaching the tank with their newfound knowledge. Maddy goes off and toddles towards Patrick before Jonny can stop her. He scoops her up so she doesn’t get trampled by people walking by and carries her over. 

Patrick’s bent over, rifling around in his bag. His khaki shorts are pulled tight over his ass, leaving nothing for the imagination except the bottom curve that he can’t see. He viciously wants to, then immediately feels bad. He doesn’t even know Patrick’s last name.

Maddy watches Patrick for a moment before reaching out and tugging gently at his shirt. Patrick spins around, locking eyes with Jonny first, then settles on Maddy who is staring at him intently. 

“This is Maddy,” Jonny tells him, amusement coloring his voice at her insistence to talk to him, “She wants to tell you something.” 

Maddy holds her fish up with one tiny hand and grips Jonny’s shirt collar in the other. “T’nk you!”

Patrick’s work smile melts into something gentle, and the sight tugs at Jonny’s heart. He wants Patrick to look at him like that. Patrick taps the top of her hand. “You’re very welcome. Do you know what you’re going to name him?”

Maddy blinks at him, gnawing on her fingers. “Fish!”

Patrick glances up at Jonny, then back to Maddy with a grin. “It’s a lovely fish.” He straightens and turns his attention to Jonny. “So, have you made it around the aquarium?”

“Mostly,” says Jonny, “Maddy really wanted to see the fish again, so we haven’t made it to the otters yet.”

“You a big otter fan, Jonny?” Patrick teases, the tip of his tongue poking out from between his teeth. Jonny nods dumbly. 

Patrick opens his mouth to say something, but they’re interrupted by Sharpy calling out, _“Tazer,”_ from god-knows-where, and Jonny flinches and looks around. He’s like a _spider._

A hand slaps down on his shoulder, saving him from embarrassing himself even more than he already has. “There you are.”

Jonny closes his eyes and takes a long, slow inhale through his nose. “Patrick, these are my friends, Abby and Patrick Sharp.” When he opens his eyes, Patrick’s shaking Sharpy’s hand. “Guys, this is Patrick. He works at the aquarium and gave Maddy a stuffed fish.”

“Fish!” Maddy announces proudly.

“Well, I only gave it to her because she guessed the right animal,” says Patrick with an impressed look, “She's very smart.”

“That she is.” Abby coos, ruffling her hair. The toddler bursts into uncontrollable giggles.

“If you wanna check out the rest of the aquarium, I’d hurry,” Sharpy tells Jonny, “But Abby’s stomach has been growling since you left and I’m a little worried it’s going to shrivel up and die, so we’re gonna leave soon.” 

Leave. They’re leaving. “Okay,” Jonny shrugs, and Patrick says, “If you’re looking for a restaurant, D.D. Pecker’s is really good. But be careful: it’s Philly themed.” Both Jonny and Sharpy’s faces twist into a grimace. Patrick snickers, “I know, I know. But they’ve got great buffalo wings.”

“Noted,” Jonny nods, “Thanks.”

Patrick’s called away by one of his coworkers, but he cuffs Jonny on the shoulder and says, “Come by later; I’ll make sure you get to see the otters,” before hoisting his bag over his shoulder and heading off. 

They hit the gift shop before they go. Abby’s paying for Maddy’s mermaid stuffy when Sharpy says, “So the otters, eh?” Jonny pouts all the way to the restaurant. 

——

Patrick was right — D.D. Pecker’s is covered in Philly sports posters and license plates. There’s a booth that has a Flyers poster with seven of their main players, with Mike Richards and his smug face standing front and center. He’s got a very punchable face. Jonny’s happy he plays a sport where he can do so and not get arrested.

They stay away from the booth and find their seats by a Phillies baseball jersey. Jonny orders the buffalo wings and ignores the look Sharpy gives him as he’s handing over his menu. 

He passes by the Flyers poster on his way to the bathroom. He has a stupid alpha-male thought, a simple _‘I beat you’_ but with a lot of heat behind it. He doesn’t feel bad about it.

He doesn’t realize the time until they’re in the car again and Abby says, “Sorry, Jon.” Jonny checks his phone and realizes that the aquarium closed half an hour ago. 

“It’s okay.” He tells her, because Maddy had wanted to get a dessert which put them back by twenty minutes. He can’t blame her. He’d splurge on a devil’s food cake too if it wasn’t so against his diet plan. 

“They’re open tomorrow,” Sharpy suggests, “You could always stop by.”

Jonny shrugs half-heartedly. “I thought we were going to the beach?”

“We’re here for three weeks, Tazer,” Sharpy snorts, “You’ll have plenty of time to go to the beach.”

“This is your vacation, too,” Abby says for the second time, “We don’t expect you to spend the entire time with us.”

Jonny smiles at her. “I know.” Then, “And, you know, if you ever need me to take Mads for some, uh, Uncle Jonny time, just say the word.”

He smirks at Sharpy’s red face as Abby nods seriously, “Oh I expect you to.”

Jonny showers that night for longer than he usually does, worrying that Patrick thinks he’s uninterested. When he falls asleep, it’s to the memory of Patrick’s laugh amplified through the aquarium’s speakers

He’s woken up to a knock on the connecting door between his room and the Sharps’. 

“We leave!” He hears Maddy squeak behind the door, “We—!”

Jonny stumbles out of bed and is just barely conscious enough to slap around down there to make sure he’s wearing pants before he swings the door open and a tiny face runs into his thigh. 

“Okay,” he says and ruffles her hair. She’s in a two-piece bathing suit with shiny mermaid scales that change colors depending on where the light hits them. Abby bought it for her specifically for the trip. “Have fun. Remember to collect some cool shells while you’re there.”

“Okay!” She pips and hurries off to find her father. 

“Going to see the otters?” Abby asks, watching with a frown as Sharpy struggles to carry all the bags. He’s refusing to make more than one trip to get everything to the car. 

Jonny nods, cheeks warm with embarrassment. Abby only smiles at him, kind, and tells him to get dressed. “We’ll drop you off.”

Jonny spends the ride to the aquarium trying to figure out some small talk, but it’s not until he’s walking into the Ocean section of the aquarium when it strikes him that Patrick might not be working today.

_Fuck._

Patrick’s not by the Great Ocean tank like he was yesterday. He goes upstairs and peeks into the Mountain Forest section, where the river otters are, but Patrick’s not there either. He leaves without seeing the otters.

He hustles through each section, even taking a quick stroll through the gift shop, but he can’t find Patrick anywhere. He’s about to give up and text Sharpy to ask him which beach he’s at, when he spots a worker by the picture booth and thinks, _fuck it._

“Hi,” Jonny says when he approaches, “Do you know if Patrick is working today?”

The girls behind the counter furrow their eyebrows, but then the brunette’s eyes get a little wide and her lips pull into a little smile. “Patrick? Yes, he’s working today.”

The relief that washes through Jonny should be alarming, considering he’s only spoken to Patrick twice, but he pays little mind to it. “Do you know where I can find him?”

“Sure,” says the redhead, more confused than the brunette, who’s smirking at him like she knows something, “He’s at the turtle rescue right now.”

“Thanks.” Jonny smiles at them, then does his best to not sprint over to the turtle rescue; he has a feeling that the girls are still watching him. 

Patrick’s right where the girls said he was. He’s behind the glass, cleaning the algae off the tank of one of the turtles. The turtle seems to take great pleasure in chasing the brush around, and so do the kids watching, if their giggles have anything to say about it. 

Jonny hangs back, carefully leaning up against the centerpiece of the room with his arms crossed over his shoulders, watching. It takes some time for Patrick to notice him, too busy playing with the turtle. He looks so happy, and when the turtle runs into the side of the tank, he laughs, shirt collar ruffling as he giggles. 

Jonny’s still standing there when a new wave of people come into the room, and the movement must catch Patrick’s attention because he finally looks up. When he finds Jonny, the brush falls out of his hands and sinks to the bottom of the tank.

The turtle tries to go for it, but Patrick and his coworker both scramble for it before she tries to eat it. Patrick’s still kind of laughing, though, so Jonny doesn’t think he’s in too much trouble. They get the brush out of the tank, and Patrick holds up a finger that means _wait._ Jonny hopes is directed towards him. 

He disappears, but materializes beside him minutes later. “Hey! Didn’t think you’d be by.”

Jonny smiles guiltily and scratches the back of his neck. “Yeah, sorry about that. The aquarium closed before I could get back. I hope you don’t mind — I know you’re working.”

But Patrick’s still smiling at him, eyes glittering like he thinks Jonny’s dumb and finds it hilarious. He probably does. “No worries. It’s kind of in my job description to inform people about the exhibits.”

“Oh yeah?” Jonny asks, “Tell me about this exhibit then.”

Patrick looks like he wants nothing more. “This is our sea turtle rescue. The aquarium is known for rescuing turtles that are hurt or get washed up. We bring them here and nurse them back to health, and once they’re all better, we release them back into the ocean. We’ve got about four turtles right now getting treatment.”

Jonny looks around at the tanks. They all have different names, some based on the people who donated money to the Rescue, others named by staffers or kids that come by to see them.

“This is Rosie,” Patrick says, motioning to the tank he’d been cleaning when Jonny has walked in, “She’s got a little rectangle mark on her fin.”

Jonny bends down a little to look for the rectangle. “What’s she in for?”

“Swallowing a bunch of plastic,” Patrick frowns, “It took three surgeries to get it all out and to keep her stable. We weren’t sure she was going to pull through. The surgeries did a lot of damage to her heart.”

Patrick’s looking at the turtle so fondly. Jonny smiles and bumps his shoulder. “Well, with you around, I’m sure she perked right up.”

The words cause a dusting of pink to spread across Patrick’s cheeks. “Nah, the veterinarians did all the magic. I just keep her company.” Jonny gives him the side-eye, and he relents, “And sneak her extra fish.”

Rosie spots them, even from her tank and the glass blocking the tank from the crowd, and she swims to the glass towards Patrick, as close as she can get. Patrick presses a delicate finger against the glass, watching as Rosie crunches herself impossibly closer. 

Hesitantly, Jonny places a gentle hand on Patrick’s shoulder. Patrick straightens, but he flashes Jonny a smile that makes him feel like he made the right move.

“So,” he says, motioning to the doorway, “Otters?”

Jonny grins, “Yes, please.”

Patrick could have taken them to the elevator, but instead he leads them through the aquarium, going through the different sections and talking about them all. Jonny’s — well, he’s not complaining.

“Would you like to pet a stingray?” He asks when they get to a TouchTank.

Jonny hesitates, “Aren’t they poisonous?”

“Yes, Jonny, we put poisonous stingrays out where four year olds can grab them,” Patrick rolls his eyes, “We’ve removed their barbs. They’re completely safe to touch.”

“Asshole,” he mutters, but tentatively allows Patrick to take his hand and dip it into the water where the rays are. Patrick drags the pads of Jonny’s fingers over the top of a passing stingray. Jonny jolts, but Patrick keeps his hand steady in a tight grip. 

It’s smooth, a little slimy, and it doesn’t take long for Jonny to seek out the rays and the horseshoe crabs on his own. Patrick pulls his hand away, and in a quick move against his will, Jonny’s pinkie shoots out to wrap around Patrick’s. Jonny doesn’t look at Patrick once he realizes what he’s done, but Patrick doesn’t make a move to take his pinkie back. He thinks that’s a good sign.

They make their way slowly through the rest of the sections before finally reaching the Mountain Forest. They pass by a bald eagle. It squawks at Jonny when they meet eyes.

“That’s the fourth bird to yell at me.” Jonny frowns as Patrick opens the doors to the river exhibit.

“The birds always know.” Patrick nods sagely.

There’s a lot of fish swimming around in the tanks, but of course, Jonny’s focus is on the river otters. There’s two of them swimming around in there, leaping off the makeshift waterfalls and into the water below. 

Jonny is a brick wall, a big, strong hockey player who lived through Manitoba winters in the nineties. But he fucking loves the otters. 

“Aw,” he says when one of the otters backflips off a rock, wiggling happily in the water. 

“Their fur has oils on it that helps prevent them from getting soaked,” Patrick tells him, “Without their fur dragging them down, they can swim a lot faster. It also keeps them warm.”

There’s a blue bucket floating around in the water, and one of the otters whacks at it with its tail. The other swims to the edge of the tank, where a little girl is, then pushes off of the glass with his tiny otter feet. The girl shrieks happily and erupts into a fit of giggles, shaking her stuffed bear excitedly. 

They stand there, watching the otters splash around. Patrick tells him some cool factoids, but they find themselves swapping stories about their respective siblings. Jonny’s so lost in their conversation and the way Patrick’s eyes light up at the mention of his sisters that he doesn’t even realize they’ve been walking out of the exhibit until the bald eagle squawks at him. Jonny startles so hard he smacks into Patrick’s shoulder.

Patrick tries not to laugh at him, but he sees the way he has to bite his lip to keep himself at bay.

“Birds are scary,” Jonny defends himself in a fit of embarrassment, “They can peck your brains out!”

Patrick pats his shoulder, trying to be serious and not make fun of Jonny’s — absolutely rational, thank you very much — fear, but he caves within a moment and giggles at him. Jonny crosses his arms over his chest and nods to the plastic nest made for the kids to sit in, “At least I’m not small enough to fit in that nest.”

Patrick wipes his eyes and ignores him. “Alright, alright. Away from the scary birds we go.”

Jonny is never going to live this down.

He only realizes that he’s seen the entire aquarium when Patrick drops him off by the gift shop. “I should get back to work,” he tells Jonny, and that sucks, but he feels better when he hears the disappointment in Patrick’s voice. 

“Meet me for lunch?” Jonny blurts. 

Patrick blinks, surprised, and then his face shifts a little. “I’ve already got lunch plans.”

“Oh,” says Jonny, and tries not to be too disappointed. 

“Tomorrow!” Patrick kind of yells, grabbing Jonny by the arm before he can walk away. His cheeks are pink, but he powers through to ask, “How’s lunch, tomorrow?”

Fuck. Lunch tomorrow sounds fantastic.

“Lunch tomorrow sounds fantastic,” Jonny agrees, and can't believe he actually said ‘fantastic.’

But Patrick’s face pulls into a wide smile. Carefully, he releases Jonny’s arm and clears his throat. “Awesome. Uh, one o’clock? At the aquarium’s restaurant?”

Oh. Well, that works, too. “One o’clock,” Jonny promises, “Gimme your number?”

And okay, not the smoothest line he’s ever said, but it gets the job done. He takes a peek at the contact name Patrick left for him once they’ve given each other their phones back. It’s just Patrick’s name, but with an otter emoji beside it. 

Without thinking, Jonny leans in and kisses Patrick’s cheek, then hurries away before he can embarrass himself anymore. 

——

It’s one fifteen when Patrick finally arrives.

“Sorry,” he apologizes as he rushes into Jonny’s view, plopping down in the chair on the other side of Jonny’s table, “I would have come earlier if I could— Rosie got worse last night and we’ve been busy all day trying to get her blood pressure back down. I haven’t wanted to leave her, so I’ve been keeping myself at the rescue all day.”

“Hey, no, don’t worry about it,” Jonny assures him, reaching his hand out. He wants to cover Patrick’s hand with his own, but he remembers where they are, so he squeezes Patrick’s arm instead, “You’re at work. I don’t expect you to just drop everything. I’m happy to wait until you’re free, even if that’s after you get off.”

Relief washes over Patrick’s face. “Thanks, Jonny.”

Jonny nods, then asks, “What do you want?”

“I’ve been craving a milkshake since you mentioned lunch,” Patrick admits. He gets up to grab the cup with the flavor he wants, then puts it under the shaker and lets it go. He greets the cashier behind the table with a nickname, and grabs a chicken pita sandwich with apple slices. 

He gets his now-shaken milkshake, puts his food on the counter, but before he can pay, Jonny sidles up behind him and slides his credit card to the cashier. “It’s on me.”

Patrick furrows his eyebrows. “I can get it. I get a discount for working here.”

Jonny shrugs, “I know. But you’ve had a rough day and I want to- I don’t know. Just let me treat you to lunch?”

The girl behind the register looks very amused. Patrick stares at Jonny for a long moment. “Fine, but I’m treating next time.”

Warmth blossoms behind Jonny’s ribs at the implication that there will be a next time. He hands over his credit card, and the situation is resolved.

They sit back down and eat in peace, making idle chit-chat about hockey and Patrick’s family. Jonny learns that he’s originally from Buffalo, New York, but when he heard about the sea turtle hospital in Charleston, he decided to attend the College of Charleston so that he had a better chance of working at the aquarium.

“I’ve always wanted to be a marine biologist,” he says, then winces, “Actually no. Growing up I really did want to be a hockey player. I was pretty good, too. I even played for Honeybaked for a little while. I was a prospect to be drafted by the London Knights, you know.”

Jonny’s salad falls out of his mouth, which probably isn’t very attractive, but he doesn’t care. Patrick could have gone pro. He could have _played_ with him. Or against him. The concept is mind-boggling. “What happened?”

Patrick shrugs, “Hurt my wrist real bad. Had to have four surgeries to get it back to almost-normal. But hockey was done for me.”

Jonny frowns. He can’t imagine life without hockey. He can’t imagine life without the Blackhawks, without Sharpy or Seabs or Crow. “That sucks,” is all he can say, “I’m sorry.”

Patrick shrugs again and takes a bite of his sandwich, “It took some time — I even went see a therapist — but I got over it. I was sixteen and had to start thinking of what else to do with my life, you know? It was a hard choice between sports medicine and marine biology, not gonna lie.”

Jonny has completely forgotten about his salad at this point. He catches himself leaning in as Patrick talks, and rights himself before Patrick notices. “So, what was the deciding factor?”

Patrick starts smiling that dumb smile that makes Jonny’s limbs feel all liquidy. “My family and I went to Myrtle Beach the summer before my senior year of high school, and we saw a group of people from a turtle rescue that were releasing a sea turtle back into the ocean. They said that they weren’t sure the turtle would survive the night when he was found, but he did. And he made a full recovery. I knew, then, that there would always be doctors and physical therapists. But there was always a need for marine biologists.”

Jonny sits there, bowled over, mouth open and gaping like a fish. He sits like that long enough for Patrick to laugh at him, and then blush at the attention. “What?”

Jonny shakes himself out of the trance. “Nothing, it’s just— it’s incredible, what you did. You pushed through a terrible time in your life and now you’re saving turtles left and right, making a life for yourself. I don’t think I would have been strong enough to do that.”

Patrick’s cheeks go bright pink. He takes a cautious bite of his sandwich to recover his wits, and drinks some of his milkshake with a devious smirk at the face Jonny makes at it.

“It’s unhealthy,” says Jonny.

“It’s delicious,” says Patrick. 

He wipes his mouth with a napkin. “Anyway, thank you. That means a lot.” He flashes a smile at Jonny, then adds, “It’s pretty admirable, though, what you’re doing with Maddy.”

Jonny’s got a mouthful of salad that he just stuffed in his face. “Mm?”

“What with your job, and everything,” Patrick explains, “You being gone so much. I’m sure she loves being able to spend time with her dad again.”

A lettuce leaf gets lodged in Jonny’s windpipe when he inhales. He coughs so hard his face turns red, and he downs his entire bottle of water in one go in an effort to get it unstuck. Patrick’s staring at him in bewilderment as Jonny heaves for air.

“Maddy’s not — she’s not mine. She’s Sharpy’s,” he tells Patrick when he can breathe without coughing, “I was moping about the playoffs so they invited me to come with them on their vacation.”

Patrick’s face goes from bewilderment to shock to absolute mortification in a matter of seconds. “Oh my god.” He says, then puts his elbows on the table and covers his face with his hands, “Oh my god, I’m so sorry. I didn’t know. I just assumed—”

“No, it’s okay, it’s fine,” Jonny assures him, “I can see how you thought that.”

Patrick’s face is still red when he moves his hands, but he looks a lot less ready to tear out of there like a rabbit. “Fuck.”

Jonny can’t help it. He laughs. 

“This isn’t funny,” Patrick pouts and crosses his arms over his chest like a child, “I’m so embarrassed!”

Jonny finds himself doubled back in snorting laughter, snickering at Patrick’s still-red cheeks. He kind of wants to kiss his pout away. “Yeah, no, as far as I know, I’m not a father.”

Patrick sips at his milkshake with a tiny smile. “Good to know.”

Jonny smiles back and then tucks into his meal, a comfortable silence falling over the table. It doesn’t last long, obviously, because Patrick wads up a napkin and chucks it at him. “That’s for laughing at me, asshole.”

Jonny looks down at the napkin in his lap, then up at Patrick. He squints; it is so on.

——

For the past four days, Jonny has been:

— going to the Isle of Palms and allowing the girls to bury him in sand

— texting Patrick

— touring a tea plantation

— eating his weight in buffalo wings 

— exercising

— FaceTiming Patrick while ranting about the plot to _Lord of the Rings_

— fishing off the Folly Beach Pier

“There’s so much to do, and yet I feel like I’ve done everything,” Jonny tells Patrick over the phone one night. He’s babysitting Maddy while her parents go on a date night, and he’s currently got her occupied with _Sofia the First_ playing on the tv in his room.

 _“Have you gone shopping?”_ Patrick asks. He’s making Ramen right now. Jonny’s cringing at the thought of all that salt. 

“Shopping? Why would I want to go shopping?” 

He can practically feel Patrick rolling his eyes at him. It’s become his favorite thing to do. _“Not, like, shopping. But shopping. Downtown.”_

Jonny stares at the ceiling. “Not shopping, but shopping.”

 _“Downtown,”_ Patrick repeats, patient with Jonny’s stupidity, _“at the market. There’s a whole four streets with stores and shops and places to eat. It’s so much better than the mall. I should know, too; every time I go home, my sisters drag me on at least two mall shopping sprees.”_

Jonny thinks he knows what Patrick’s talking about. There’s a strip of stores downtown with a bunch of small businesses and a few major clothing stores. Jonny thinks Maddy might like it.

“That sounds good,” he says, “Downtown, I mean.”

 _“I could show you guys around,”_ Patrick offers, attempting to come off as nonchalant and failing terribly, _“I can’t tell you how many times I’ve been down there. I could walk it with my eyes closed.”_

Jonny smiles. There’s something about the twinge of nervousness inside Patrick’s cocky attitude that he can’t help but find endearing. It’s an understatement to say that Patrick’s as beautiful as a goddess; it’s nice to see something that makes him a little more human. Considering Jonny’s about one of the most embarassing humans in existence. 

“That sounds great, Pat,” Jonny tells him, “Text me your address? We’ll come and pick you up. When are you free next?”

There’s silence as Patrick thinks over his schedule. Jonny can hear the hiss of the hot water as he drains his noodles. Great. Now Jonny wants chicken pasta. 

_“I only work until three tomorrow? If that works for you guys.”_

It works perfectly. Sharpy is going to _love_ sleeping in for the first time this entire trip. “Perfect. Tomorrow at three then.”

 _“Cool,”_ Patrick smiles, and starts swearing at his stove. 

Sharpy gives him the most gleeful, troll-ish grin when Jonny tells them Patrick’s volunteered to take them around the market tomorrow. When Jonny wakes up the next morning, there’s a strip of condoms on his bedside table. 

As it turns out, Patrick’s apartment is super close to the market. It’s a pastel yellow building, painted and sculpted to look like it’s been there since the Antebellum period. Patrick walks out of the lobby in a white v-neck and tight blue skinny jeans. Jonny’s eyes, try as he might, flicker down to his ass, perfectly accentuated by the fit of his jeans.

“Don’t be too obvious.” Abby reminds him, tapping her thigh. Jonny’s hands fly down to check his crotch. He’s good. 

Patrick climbs into the car where Jonny is, smiling a hello to him and thanking the Sharps for letting him ride. 

“Well, when Jonny told us how well you knew the area, we couldn’t say no,” Abby teases as he pulls out of the parking lot.

Patrick buckles his seatbelt, then nudges Jonny in the side. “Talk about me often?”

“He doesn’t shut his mouth.” Sharpy deadpans at them. Jonny buries his face in his hands, mortified. 

Patrick talks Sharpy through a shortcut. The curb that they park on is directly in front of a little year-round Christmas shop _._ They duck inside, because Abby wants to look for an ornament that looks like the cobia fish stuffie Patrick gave Maddy.

“They’re ugly little fuckers, though,” Patrick whispers to Jonny, ducking his head down so no one hears him. Jonny bites his lip to contain his laughter.

Patrick leads them down Meeting Street, pointing out all the hotels and shops as they go. It takes a good bit to get to King Street, which Patrick says is the first place to start. They come across a cookie shop in seconds. It was too much to hope that Abby wouldn’t notice the giant cookie painted on the window. 

Walking into the shop was like a slap to the face with a fresh-out-the-oven sugar cookie. Jonny could taste the sugar.

But Abby is in awe, and apparently, so is Patrick.

“I haven’t been here in years,” he says, staring at the displays of cookies. “I remember coming here during college. Cramming for exams and being too jacked up on caffeine to get more coffee.”

Jonny nudges him in the side. “Oh yeah”

Patrick smiles, “Yeah, my roommate and I would run here before they closed and get as many cookies as the two of us could afford with our out-of-state college-student bank accounts that would constantly edge closer to the negatives more times than we’d like to admit.”

Jonny chuckles at him, but knows he’s had it good. He’s got a six-figure salary and a fantastic investment portfolio. He’s never had to worry about not having enough money to eat as a college student. He’s always been more than comfortable, even when he _was_ in college. 

“Which looks best to you?” Patrick asks, licking his lips at the cookies. “I’m too indecisive when it comes to food. I either get nothing or buy them all.”

Jonny snorts, but doesn’t comment on that. “Dunno. I’ve got a gluten allergy. I don’t really eat cookies.” 

Patrick’s head snaps over to him with big, sad eyes. “You’ve never had a cookie?”

Patrick — he looks _devastated._ Jonny would be concerned if it wasn’t so funny. “I’ve had cookies before,” he says, amused, “They’re also unhealthy, so I stay away from them.”

“Well you’re on vacation,” Patrick tells him with a nod of determination, “and they have gluten-free cookies. So guess what? You’re trying one.”

Jonny opens his mouth to protest, but Sharpy interrupts him by saying, “Just eat the stupid cookie, Tazer,” while wrestling with his daughter to not eat any of the cookies they bought.

The woman behind the desk seems very amused at everything that’s going on. Jonny glares at Sharpy, then relents. “Fine. I’ll take the gluten-free M&M.”

“Make that three gluten-free M&M’s,” Patrick tells the woman, “and a gluten-free chocolate chip. He’ll be less grumpy once he has some junk food.”

“That’s the biggest lie I’ve ever heard,” Jonny says, deadpan. But he doesn’t change the order, and he pays for the cookies while Patrick makes his own selections: three strawberry lemonades, two sugar M&M’s, a red velvet, and a classic sugar with sprinkles.

“You’ll actually die.” Jonny gapes as they exit the store, staring down at Patrick’s box of horror. “Like, you’ll actually die.”

“Stop being so overdramatic,” Patrick rolls his eyes at him, and stuffs one of the strawberry lemonades into his face in spite.

The sun is already setting, casting an ombré of oranges and pinks across the sky. “Pink sky at night, sailor’s delight,” says Patrick, and blushes at Jonny when he looks over at him. They share a smile, something private and secret between the two of them. 

“Ice creeeeme!” Maddy shrieks when they pass by an ice cream shop.

“No. Absolutely not,” Sharpy shuts that down quick, leading her away, “Too much sugar too close to bedtime.”

Maddy turns her sights on Jonny, giving the best puppy-eyes she can muster up. Jonny’s weak for them, but he’s not going to undermine Sharpy’s authority. He simply takes a bite of his own cookie and shrugs sympathetically. “If it makes you feel better, I can’t have ice cream, either.”

He knows she doesn’t understand hardly anything he said, but Sharpy smiles gratefully at him, and Maddy is soon distracted by all the toy stores. Patrick turns to Jonny with a confused look. “Is this another athlete health-thing, or are you lactose intolerant, too?”

Jonny shrugs, “Both, but mainly the latter. I can’t eat most dairy, and that includes ice cream.”

“You poor, poor man.” Patrick frowns, then brightens. “Lucky for you, they’re _great_ with allergies. They’ve got dairy-free ice creams, or you can dip fruit instead.”

Jonny still looks suspicious, so Patrick adds, “If we can get away later, I’ll take you in and show you. You don’t have to get anything, but you shouldn’t miss out on something just because you don’t usually get to have it.”

Jonny smiles at him and ruffles his curls. Patrick tries to swat his hand away, but Jonny easily bats them away with his free hand and continues to muse up his hair. Because he’s an asshole, and so is Patrick. 

They trail behind the Sharps as they go into stores, and Jonny picks out a new bathing suit because the one he brought with him broke.

Patrick laughs so hard he has to lean against the wall when Jonny tells him. “You’re telling me you bent over in wet trunks, and your ass was _so big_ that they _ripped?”_

“I don’t see anything funny about it.” Jonny huffs, arms crossed while Patrick slides to the floor in a gasping heap. 

They stick together most of the shopping trip, falling behind to talk side-by-side, arms pressed up together as Jonny steals one of Patrick’s cookies and holds it high above his head where Patrick is too short to reach it.

“You’re such an asshole!” Patrick puffs, then climbs up Jonny’s back against his will to fight for his cookie. 

When they’ve caught their breath and Patrick has successfully taken back his cookie, Sharpy stops them and says, “The girls want to go dress shopping. Why don’t the two of you go hang out, and we’ll meet up later. Ten thirty?”

It’s almost nine now, so Jonny nods and goes his separate way, with Patrick following behind. Jonny tells Patrick about the 2010 playoffs, and Patrick’s very interested up until they get to the very end of the street and come across a small shop with the College of Charleston emblem on the door.

“This is the school store.” Patrick tells him. The lights are off and the door is locked, so Patrick presses himself against the window, cups a hand around his eyes, and looks inside. Jonny follows suit.

“I’ll have to get you a College of Charleston shirt one day,” Patrick says as they make their way down the street again, “UND has nothing on us.”

“We have snow,” Jonny says, because at the heart of all New Yorkers living in the South is missing the snowfall.

“We have a beach,” replies Patrick. Jonny frowns. Point.

They duck into an H&M for shits and giggles. The walls are lined with sandals and khaki shorts. There’s a blue and green Hawaiian shirt with the front rolled into a ball to be a crop-top. Jonny picks it up and drapes it in front of him. “What do you think? Too much belly button?”

“I think you look hot,” Patrick says. 

Jonny doesn’t buy the crop-top, but he does get a men’s Hawaiian shirt in the same pattern. 

Patrick snags a god-awful hat, bright pink with sequins and a big white feather, puts it on his head, and does the duck face.

“Ew,” Jonny says and takes a picture.

It’s dark now, sky dotted with tiny white stars. Patrick tells him most of the places are getting ready to close.

“Want to take a look at that ice cream place?” Patrick asks. There’s a hopefulness in his voice that Jonny can't say no to. 

The walls are colorful when they walk inside, different sizes of rectangles and squares and an ocean mural on the wall opposite the display cases. There’s a man behind the counter, and a little boy playing on an iPad. 

“Hi guys,” the guy greets them, “What can we do for you today?”

Patrick jabs his thumb in Jonny’s direction. “My buddy, here, has a dairy allergy, and hasn’t had ice cream since he was a kid.”

“I never said that,” Jonny retorts, and doesn’t admit that it’s true.

Patrick ignores him. “I told him this was the place to go to get ice cream that he can eat.”

“You’ve come to the right place,” the guy smiles, and leads them to the far right where a display case is located, full of ice cream in the shape of big rectangular popsicles, “These are our normal ice cream flavors on this half on the display, but we have the same flavors as dairy-free on this half, here. We also have chilled bananas that you can dip instead.”

A banana is much healthier than ice cream, even dairy-free, but Patrick’s right — it’s hard to find ice cream in so many flavors that he can eat. He can always dip a banana in chocolate and sprinkles at home, but he might never get the chance to eat buttermilk flavored ice cream with Froot Loops frozen inside. 

He grabs the dairy-free one with the Froot Loops and can’t help but smile when Patrick cheers behind him. Patrick snags his own one — a strawberry ice cream bar with slices of strawberries frozen inside. Jonny dips his bar in white chocolate, watches it drip, and then sticks it in the bowl of rainbow-colored jimmies. He hopes his nutritionist never finds out.

Patrick’s ice cream bar is still dipped in the liquid milk chocolate, lifting and dipping and lifting and dipping. When he’s content with his inch-thick chocolate coating, he drops it in crumbled up Oreo pieces. 

“Your teeth are going to fall out of your head.” Jonny tuts. Patrick ignores him in favor of drizzling fudge over his bar. 

They pay for their treats and decide to walk up King Street again. Jonny’s always acutely aware of where he is and who’s around him, an automatic response of being a pro athlete. However, he lets Patrick walk next to him and press in close as they chat and eat their ice cream together. 

At one point, a comfortable silence falls over them. Jonny finishes his ice cream and tosses his stick in a nearby trash can. Patrick doesn’t seem to like the silence, though, because he does what he does best and stirs up trouble. 

That includes: Patrick taking his ice cream bar and smashing it in Jonny’s face.

Jonny sputters and crashes sideways into a wall, stumbling backwards into a small alleyway between two buildings. Patrick doubles over in laughter as Jonny wipes his face with a napkin, but it’s short-lived when Jonny smacks the napkin onto Patrick’s face. 

Patrick rips it off with a gasp, “You dick.”

Jonny glares at him, but there’s not a lot of heat behind it. “You’re a little shit.”

Patrick grins cheekily, cleaning off the residue on his face before tossing the napkin and his ruined ice cream in the trash. “Oops.” He doesn’t sound at all guilty, and might try to do it again. 

Jonny opens his mouth to call him a dipshit or something, but is stopped when Patrick reaches a hand to his own face and taps the corner of his mouth. “You, uh,” he stutters, “you’ve got ice cream, uh, there.”

Jonny stares at Patrick’s mouth for a moment, distracted, then wipes his mouth with his hand. “Did I get it?”

Patrick’s eyes are glued to Jonny’s mouth. “Hm? Yeah, you— you missed a spot.” Patrick inches closer, tiny pieces of rocks rolling beneath his feet as he shuffles along the concrete. He’s giving Jonny time to say no, and Jonny’s got just enough working brain cells to look around for any cell phones or prying eyes. When he takes a step back, farther into the alley, Patrick follows. 

Jonny watches with bated breath as Patrick gets closer, lets out a quiet, almost inaudible, “Where?” 

“Here,” Patrick whispers, and presses his lips gently to the corner of Jonny’s mouth. His tongue pokes out to swipe the ice cream away, lips plush on Jonny’s skin. He pulls back slightly, enough to tilt his head up to meet Jonny’s eyes, then dips forward to capture Jonny’s lips with his own. 

Jonny lets out an involuntary moan, but can’t find it in him to be embarrassed because _fuck._ Patrick’s mouth is perfect. It’s warm and plush and wet with spit, and Jonny licks the seam of his lips. Patrick makes a tiny sound that makes Jonny weak in the knees. 

He opens up beautifully for Jonny, lips parting so Jonny’s tongue slips inside with ease. “Fuck,” he gasps and pulls back before he gets a boner. 

Patrick’s eyes flutter, blissed out with his body curled into Jonny’s hands. “Oh.”

Jonny’s phone pings with a reminder that it’s almost ten thirty. He frowns. “We should get back.” Patrick frowns right back at him, and Jonny realizes how that sounded. He kisses him again, to solidify his point. “Let me take you to lunch. Or dinner. Whichever works for you.”

Patrick’s eyes fill with hope again. “Yeah?”

Jonny bumps their noses together. “Yeah.”

Sharpy doesn’t ask what they did while they were separated. He does give Jonny a pointed look when he notices the bulge in his jeans, but Jonny ignores it and sticks close to Patrick while Maddy excitedly shows them the mermaid toy set Abby bought her. 

“Did you boys have fun?” Abby asks. Patrick and Jonny share a secret, heated look, and— yeah, Jonny would say so. 

——

“Now, what are we going to tell Patrick when he answers?” Jonny asks, bouncing Maddy on his knee. It’s ten in the morning on Patrick’s day off, and Jonny has a plan. 

“Um,” she says, “Come beach!” 

“That’s right!” Jonny cheers as he dials Patrick’s number. “And what else?”

“Um,” she repeats, “Please!”

“Perfect!” Jonny grins and tickles at her sides. He doesn’t feel sleazy at all using a toddler to get his man-crush to haul his ass out of bed and come see Jonny shirtless. And to see Patrick shirtless. And dripping wet. Patrick better answer his fucking phone. 

“You should come to the beach with us,” says Jonny before Patrick can get a word in. 

Patrick, who is probably still in bed, grumbles over the other line. _“It’s my day off, asshole.”_ His lisp catches Jonny right in the heart. 

Jonny, who came prepared, gives the phone to Maddy. 

“Hi, Pat!” She coos into the phone. “Come beach! T’ank you.”

Not quite the script they had practiced, but it works just as good. He hears Patrick pause, then sigh. _“When do I need to be ready?”_

Jonny takes the phone back and hands Maddy the little fairy doll he promised her. She scurries away to hide it in her backpack. “Quarter to noon?”

 _“Alright, loser,”_ relents Patrick. 

Victory. 

Jonny has exactly five pairs of trunks that he brought with him so that the others had time to properly dry. However, he spends the next fifteen minutes going back and forth between pairs, trying to figure out which ones make his thighs look better. 

“He’ll be staring at your ass, Tazer, not your thighs,” Sharpy sighs when he walks in on Jonny tugging on the navy blue pair for the third time.

Jonny turns sideways in the mirror and glances at himself. He looks okay, but he needs more. 

Sharpy sighs and grabs the crumpled salmon pair off the bed, then chucks it at Jonny’s chest. “Wear these. They cup your ass and fall low enough to frame your abs.”

Jonny stares at the pink trunks in his hands, then quirks an eyebrow at Sharpy. “Think about my abs a lot, eh?”

Sharpy flips him the bird and turns on his heels, shouting, “See if I ever help get you laid again, asshole.”

Jonny laughs and drops his shorts. 

They pick Patrick up right at noon, just like they said they would. Patrick still looks a little groggy when he comes out of his apartment complex, but he’s awake and carrying a beach bag with him, which is good enough for Jonny. 

Patrick’s got on a grey pair of swim trunks, the shimmer of his thin gold chain dipping below the collar of his soft-looking white t-shirt. He’s wearing slides, and Sharpy heaves out, “God, you and Tazer really are perfect for each other,” when he gets in the car, because Sharpy thinks slides look tacky.

“Not all of us can afford sixty dollar sandals like _some_ people,” Patrick quips back, tossing his bag at his feet while buckling up. He turns to Jonny, who is wearing matching slides on his feet, “What’s your excuse?”

Sharpy laughs loud and obnoxious, then reaches back to high five Patrick. 

“I hate you both,” Jonny huffs, crossing his arms like a petulant child, “Maddy has much better manners than the two of you.”

They set up camp on Folly Beach, far away enough that the tide won’t wash them away, but close enough that they’re not by the entrances where the hoards of people are swarming onto the beach. Jonny stabs their umbrella into the sand while Abby unfolds all the chairs and pops open the cooler.

“Beer!” Patrick cheers, but Sharpy snatches it from his hand and holds it high above his head. 

“Are you sure you’re old enough?” He teases, swinging the bottle back and forth. He’s maneuvered himself between Patrick and the cooler so he can’t grab another. 

“I’m twenty-three, you asshole,” Patrick gripes and tries to grab it from his hand, but he gets no luck.

He looks to Jonny for help, “Tell him.”

Jonny looks between Sharpy and Patrick, then pushes his shades up his nose and leans back in his chair. “You _are_ shorter than the average human.”

Patrick looks like he’s be cursing Jonny out if there wasn’t a baby munching on Cheerios five feet away from him. “Ha ha, another short joke,” he huffs and snatches the beer from Sharpy’s hand, “Never heard that before.”

He dumps sand on Jonny’s head as payback. He even recruits Maddy to help with the crime. 

Jonny stares at her, sand spilling from his hair, betrayed, “I thought you were on my side.”

Maddy gives the bucket to Patrick, but it’s futile. Jonny knows the truth. 

He gets his tan on for a good hour. Patrick even times it for him, telling him when to flip by jabbing head in the head with his big toe. He offers the empty spot beside him where a towel and it’s owner could lay, but Patrick smiles at him apologetically and says, “I’ll burn in ten minutes,” while rubbing on another layer of SPF 150. 

Jonny soaks in the sun like he’s fucking photosynthesizing. It makes him loose and sleepy, gives him a warm feeling that seeps down into his bones. He dozes like that, on his back and facing the comforting heat of the sun. 

In the background, he can hear children laughing, the waves crashing against the shore, dancing along with their excitement. It’s nice, peaceful despite all of the people. He’s not even worried about seagulls pooping on him. He thinks for one, brief, moment of living in a beach house with Patrick — taking walks down the shore in the cool of the early morning, when the sun is just peeking out from under the line of the horizon. 

There are toes on his cheeks. He opens his eyes, bringing a hand up to shield them from the sun. Patrick is staring down at him with a soft smile, and he nods towards the water. “Wanna join them?”

Jonny sits up, still a little sluggish from the heat, and notices that Sharpy, Abby, and the baby are gone. He looks off to the ocean, where Patrick motioned to, and sees the Sharps dipping Maddy’s feet into the foamy water. Jonny sprays on another layer of sunblock, then stands. 

The water is cool. It’s not as warm as he expected, and he jumps a little when it gets up to the small of his back and it doesn’t feel like bath water, but he gets used to it after a few minutes and is following Patrick farther in, past the gigantic waves. Sharpy and Abby stay closer to the shore, only in up to their thighs so that Maddy doesn’t get crushed by a wave, so it’s just him and Patrick out here. 

The waves are a lot less intense this far in, only big enough to keep them bobbing up and down in the water, but they’re still close enough to shore that they can touch the ground with the tips of their toes. Well, Jonny can, at least. 

“You should have brought pool floats,” Patrick says to him — and he actually looks a little disappointed. 

Jonny blinks at him incredulously. “They’re called ‘pool floats’ for a reason, Patrick.”

Patrick smiles, but there’s a gleam in his eye. “Not in the south.” 

They talk for a while, laughing at Sharpy together when his sunglasses fall off his head, and a crab comes and snatches them before he can grab them. They continue to laugh as Sharpy frantically chases after it and don’t make any move to help him. 

The sun is high in the sky now, glaring into Jonny’s eyes. A loud, excited shriek from a little girl running into the ocean makes him wince, feeling the beginning of a headache start to form. He checks to make sure Maddy’s safe in someone’s arms before wading out of the water and making the trek over to their spot. 

He shuffles around in his bag, ignoring the eyes that he can feel boring into the back of his skull. He finds the ibuprofen and pops two, taking a swig of water from one of the bottles in the ice cooler. 

“You okay?” Patrick asks, sitting on the beach towel beside him. 

Jonny nods and slides on his sunglasses. He hadn’t wanted to take them out in the water and risk them getting swept away by a wave. “Yeah. Doctor said I’ll be more susceptible to headaches for a few months, even after my concussion symptoms went away. My brain is still sensitive, or something.”

Patrick’s face floods with concern. “Shit, do you need to, like, leave?”

Jonny can’t stand seeing Patrick suddenly so worried, so he reaches out and squeezes his shoulder comfortingly. “Nah, I’m good. I’m just supposed to take something for it right when it starts. It’s a tiny headache aggravated by the sun and all the screaming kids. I’m okay.”

Patrick still looks a little wary, but he takes what Jonny offered and gently bumps his shoulder with his own. “It was a dumb thing you did, that concussion and all.”

“Yeah,” Jonny agrees, keeps his arm pressed up against Patrick’s as he stares out at the ocean where Sharpy is bouncing Maddy up and down in the water, “it was.”

Patrick bumps him again, a little harder this time, and says, “Well, whenever you wanna call it quits, I know this great beach grill right down the street. If you feel like it.”

Jonny turns his head and smiles at him, “I’ll let you know.”

They head back to the water. Maddy tries to wriggle out of her father’s hands to get to them when she spots them, but she can’t swim, so Sharpy walks her through the water while she doggy paddles her way over. When she’s close enough, Jonny scoops her up and tosses her in the air, catching her under the armpits before she can tumble into the water.

She shrieks, giggling when she’s safe in his arms again, and pats at his face. “Goo’ job.” She says, then sticks her slobbery, salt-water fingers into his mouth. Jonny’s so surprised that he inhales all of that and has to hold her away as he coughs and gags into the water. Maddy only laughs at him. 

Patrick laughs at him, too, but then a wave comes and sweeps him under. Jonny thinks he got what he deserved. 

——

The sun is hot and there’s even more screeching kids that run onto the beach. There’s a brief scare when Maddy suddenly takes off towards the ocean after a seagull, and the four of them have to scramble after her, dodging people and ruining a few sandcastles in the process. Sharpy scolds her, which results in a tantrum, and it’s loud enough to make Jonny wince. 

His headache is gone, but he knows if he sticks around that it will come back. Plus, he’d really like some crab legs right about now. Preferably with Patrick. 

“Up for that dinner yet?” Jonny asks him. Patrick smiles and gathers up his things without question.

He lets the Sharps — who are all currently sunbathing — know where he’s going. Abby waves a hand at them and says, “Okay, have fun,” but Sharpy drops his shades and gives him the upside-down side eyes. 

“Dinner, Sharpy,” Jonny huffs, hands moving apart in a motion that looks like he’s pulling melty cheese, “Just. Dinner.”

“Wine and dine his ass, Tazer.” Sharpy leers, and Jonny can’t scold him for cursing around his daughter because said daughter is asleep. Rats.

Instead, Jonny elects to ignore him. He walks off with an eye-roll and without a word, grabbing his own stuff and maneuvering Patrick away from Sharpy as they exit the beach.

“I don’t have clothes.” Jonny says and stops short in the middle of the sidewalk. Patrick raises his eyebrows, then looks down at Jonny’s swim trunks clinging tight around his thighs. Jonny blushes. “I mean shirt. I don’t have a shirt.”

“Wow, you’ve really never been to the beach, have you?” He snorts. Upon seeing Jonny’s slightly offended face, he amends, “The restaurants along the beaches don’t care if you’re in your bathing suit. As long you’ve got all the important stuff covered, you’re fine.”

Jonny looks directly at Patrick’s nipples and fails at being subtle about it. Patrick smirks when he sees where Jonny’s looking. “A guy’s nips can be out. Don’t worry.” He starts walking again. Jonny stumbles to follow after him.

“Still,” Jonny frowns, “Pictures might get out. PR doesn’t really like when pics of me half naked get leaked. Unless it’s for a workout video.”

“Do you not want to go?” Patrick asks, and Jonny trips over his own feet. 

“No, I do,” he promises, “I swear I do.”

Patrick digs around in his bag then chucks a balled-up shirt. “Then wear this and stop being a baby. We’re almost there.”

The shirt is Patrick’s. It’s got some weird design — a wave that turns into a person smiling. It’s a little small for Jonny’s shoulders, but it’s a muscle tee and looks a little loose, even for Jonny, so he slides it on without a word. 

_Loggerhead’s_ isn’t very full when they walk in. One of the girls behind the bar waves at Patrick when she spots him. Patrick leads them to the tables outside on the upper deck that overlooks the strip and the people hurrying around. Despite all the people and the tourists that pause randomly in the middle of the streets, it’s peaceful. Jonny could imagine living here, or someplace like it. He understands why Patrick stayed. 

Jonny gets his crab legs, because Chicago crab legs are good, but no one does seafood better than restaurants ten feet from the beach. Patrick gets a massive club sandwich, bigger than his head, and orders a margarita. 

“Get a cocktail,” Patrick tells him. His lips are wrapped around the tiny straw in his margarita, head bent and eyes peering between his golden lashes, “They’ve got almost everything here.”

Jonny’s only barely able to drag his eyes away before Patrick notices. He holds up his menu to hide his face that he’s sure is bright red, and he can no longer blame the sun. “What do you suggest?”

He’s on vacation, so he splurges a little and orders a Blue Lagoon, per Patrick’s suggestion. When he turns his head, he can see Folly Beach past the rows of colorful buildings, the dark speckles of people in the water. The blue umbrellas in the sand look like triangles from here. 

Patrick orders dessert, a vanilla cake with butterscotch drizzle and tiny butterscotch chips. Jonny’s fallen too much off his diet plan to eat even a crumb, but Patrick keeps his mind off of wanting the cake by telling him about a new turtle that came into the rescue and dragging the fork across his lips as he talks. 

The prongs of the fork press delicately against his bottom lip, turning the skin beneath the metal a yellowish-white before melting back into their usual pink color, darker in irritation. He’s got the worst chapped lips Jonny’s ever seen. He _really_ wants to get his mouth on them. 

“I think we’ll be able to release him next week.” Patrick says, stabs his cake, then wraps his lips around the fork. It slides out clean, and he taps it gently against his lips as he chews. Jonny’s almost positive that he’s doing it on purpose, and the sad thing is, it’s working. 

His eyes are pinpointed on Patrick’s mouth as his tongue licks off the crumbs of the cake. Patrick’s still blabbering about the turtle, and Jonny’s so hard in his trunks that he’s worried a passer-byer might see his boner in their peripherals. 

“Come back with me,” is what he blurts, even though what he meant to say was _‘oh, that’s interesting,’_ even though he has no idea what Patrick’s talking about. 

He’s ready to apologize and take it back, but Patrick just smirks at him and goes, “Took you long enough.”

And oh. _Oh._

——

They go to Patrick’s apartment. Patrick has work in the morning, and Jonny doesn’t want to risk Maddy walking in on them. The one year old doesn’t need anything else to scar her for life. That’s Sharpy’s job.

There’s no one in the hallway, and he’s still a little buzzed from the Blue Lagoon, so he’s got no problem with draping himself over Patrick’s back and kissing along his neck, the bulge in his pants fitting perfectly against Patrick’s ass. Patrick’s hands are shaking as he fumbles with his keys. It takes three tries to slide the key inside and twist the lock, and he’s barely got the door open before Jonny pushes him through and slams it shut behind them. 

Jonny’s always wanted to slam someone up against a door and rut against them, so that’s exactly what he does. The breath whooshes out of Patrick on impact, and he makes a tiny noise that forces a spurt of precome to drip onto the fabric of Jonny’s swim trunks.

“How are you this fucking hot, oh my fucking god,” Patrick gasps against Jonny’s lips, arms falling over Jonny’s shoulders and dragging him closer.

Jonny grunts and lines up their dicks, rubbing them together in a dirty grind. He can feel the fabric of his boxers dragging over the sensitive skin of his dick as he moves. Patrick moans, teeth clashing with Jonny’s as he goes in harder.

“Get your dick out,” Patrick breathes. Jonny drops his swim trunks instantly. 

“You’re huge,” says Patrick, wide-eyed and quiet in his awe. Jonny’s cock dribbles at the words. 

He steps out of his suit and leaves it by the door when Patrick starts pushing him out of the foyer and down the hall. He drags off Jonny’s shirt and pushes him backwards. The duvet is soft beneath his bare ass, dick hard and bared to God and the world. Patrick unites the string of his own bathing suit and lets it fall to the floor. 

“Are you clean?” He asks as he crawls onto the bed and up Jonny’s body. He’s a gorgeous sight, face flushed already, biceps flexing as he moves. He’s little, but he’s not lanky at all — all solid muscle and fat ass. His mouth is red and wet. Jonny wants to kiss it some more. 

“Yeah,” he croaks, and his brain splatters against the wall when Patrick bends forward and takes his cock in his mouth.

His mouth falls open as his dick sinks into the hot squeeze of Patrick’s throat, and Patrick — he’s making _sounds._ Happy sounds, like sucking Jonny’s dick is the best thing since sliced bread. He pulls off to lick at the head, getting him nice and wet, and Jonny’s far too close to coming so soon, which is astonishing and, quite frankly, very embarrassing, so he reaches down to squeeze the base of his cock to steady himself. The movements make Patrick pause. He looks up at Jonny through his eyelashes, bats his pretty blue eyes at him. 

“Fuck, you’re gorgeous,” Jonny moans. He cups Patrick’s cheek, swipes his thumb over the spit already smeared across his chin. Patrick smiles at him, tongue darting out to lick Jonny’s thumb before he pops it into his mouth. Jonny lets him for a little while, brings himself away from the edge, and when he’s had enough, pulls his thumb out and shakes his cock at him. “Get to it.”

“Pushy,” Patrick quips and eans down to bite at Jonny’s thigh. Jonny hisses, jolting at the sharp burst of pain, and he can’t hide how his cock twitches at it. 

This time when Patrick sinks onto his cock, Jonny's ready for it. He braces, eyes pinpointed on Patrick’s mouth as it splits over the head, fat bottom lip dripping spit and running down his shaft. He moans, and reaches down to tangle a hand in Patrick’s terrible curls that Jonny wants so badly to come in. His free hand fists itself into Patrick’s sheets, tightening so that the bedding untucks from between the mattress and the boxspring. 

His mouth drops open as Patrick slides down to the root, swallowing around him, with his nose buried in Jonny’s pubic hair. He’s so glad he trimmed it last night.

Jonny’s spent the better part of the past few weeks fantasizing over Patrick’s mouth on his cock, but it’s so much better than he ever thought possible. His lips parting around him is a sight that is forever etched onto his brain. His tongue does wonders and his throat squeezes nice and tight every time Patrick takes him in all the way. Jonny sinks a hand into Patrick’s mused-up curls and lets himself feel the movement of Patrick’s head bobbing up and down on his cock.

With a heavy heart — a heavy, heavy heart — Jonny coaxes Patrick off and flushes a little as he dick slaps against his stomach with a wet _splat._ Patrick pouts a little up at him. Jonny can’t help but thumb at his bottom lip, consoling. “As much as I love this, I really want to come with my cock in your ass.” 

Patrick cheers a little and clambers up onto the bed, falling face-first into the pillows and wiggling his bare ass at Jonny. “Hop to it.”

Jonny stares. Patrick continues his wiggling. 

And, well, it’s right there, being thrusted into his face. Jonny is in every right when he lands a hard smack to the fat of Patrick’s ass, the satisfying crack ringing through the bedroom. Patrick yells and drops his hips immediately, completely caught off guard. Jonny grins, pleased that he’s finally gotten one step ahead of him. 

Jonny trails his hands up Patrick’s small but muscled thighs, scratches through the hair and watches Patrick shiver. He moves upward, over his ass and the red-hot mark left over, then settles where his hands curl around the thin expanse of Patrick’s waist. He leans forward to where Patrick’s cock and balls have been pinned downwards, trapped against the mattress and between his legs. He licks a stripe from the tip up to the root, then over the seam of his balls, and smiles against them when Patrick moans high in his throat and jolts against his tongue.

He gives in, partially because he’s so hard he could pound nails and needed to be inside of Patrick, like, yesterday. He uses his grip on Patrick’s hips to turn him onto his back. He’s met with the glorious sight of Patrick, red-faced and panting, his freed cock dribbling against his abs. He kisses the skin of his belly right above the tip of his cock, just to get him squirming. 

Jonny pulls back a little, looks up at Patrick through his lashes and meets his eyes. He wraps his hand around Patrick‘s stiff cock and starts jerking him in a loose grip. “Got the stuff?”

Patrick flails an arm out and swats his hand around. “In the— in the nightstand.” His eyes flutter when Jonny tightens his fingers over the head of his dick. “In the—”

Jonny reaches over to the bedside table and grabs the lube. He squirts too much onto his fingers in his hurry, and it drips cool and wet into Patrick’s pubic hair. 

He dips down, taking Patrick’s lips in his own, and pushes knees up and apart. Patrick keens, thighs trembling in anticipation, and continues to kiss the fuck out of Jonny as he slips the first finger in. 

One becomes two in the blink of an eye. Patrick starts grinding down on Jonny’s fingers, eager to get this show on the road, but Jonny stops him with a hand on his hip to keep him still. He parts his fingers and scissors Patrick open, then slots in the third finger. 

Patrick bites down hard on Jonny’s lip when the tips of his fingers graze over his prostate. He feels Jonny hum into his mouth, and on the next thrust in he presses perfectly against it. Patrick groans, dragging his lips away to draw in a ragged breath. 

“Okay, okay,” he gasps out, “You gotta— you gotta do it now.” He lifts his hips a little against the feeling. “Put your dick in me, damnit, or so help me god—”

“Shh,” Jonny coos and kisses him quiet, “Don’t be a brat.”

Patrick tries to kick at him, but then Jonny drags his fingers against his prostate again, and the best he can manage is a shaky thrust of his foot that lands weakly onto the meat of Jonny’s ass.

Jonny takes his fingers out and wipes them on the bedspread, digs around for a condom, and rolls it on. When he leans forward, Patrick tosses his legs around Jonny’s hips, pulling him closer. He puts his weight on his arms and stares Patrick in the eye as he lines up. “Ready?”

“You’re not that big, asshole,” Patrick chirps, wiggling his ass against the gloved-up head of Jonny’s cock. Jonny just smiles at him, takes his cock in his hand, and pushes the head in. 

Jonny is that big. He can see it on Patrick’s face as it scrunches up a little, mouth dropping open in a wet exhale. Jonny ducks down and kisses the corner of his mouth, working his cock in. He knows Patrick isn’t afraid to tell him to stop, or to wait. He knows his limits and isn’t afraid to hit Jonny with a pillow if he needs to. (He won’t need to.) So he keeps at it, keeps pushing in inch by inch, until he’s bottomed out and Patrick is gasping beneath him. 

At some point, Patrick has pushed his face into Jonny’s arm beside his head, and is breathing hard into the crook of his elbow. 

“You good?” Jonny asks, nipping gently at the shell of Patrick’s ear.

Patrick turns his head a smidge, enough to crack an eye open and look up at him. “Yeah,” he says, then clenches so hard that Jonny sees floaters in his peripherals, “C’mon.”

Jonny’s not going to keep him waiting. He pulls out almost all the way, keeping Patrick open on the widest part of the head of his cock, then thrusts back in. He watches in fascination as Patrick’s eyes fall closed and thinks, _I did that._

His thrusts start shallow, but he picks up speed as he watches the pain on Patrick’s face disappear. He gets up off his elbows and puts his weight on his hands so that he can get more leverage. It works, and on his next thrust in, Patrick gives a hoarse cry and scrambles for purchase on Jonny’s shoulders. Patrick’s nails dig into his muscles, scratching at the skin, overwhelmed. 

Jonny’s never been this close to Patrick, not like this. He can feel Patrick’s heartbeat against his fingers when he drags a hand up his bare chest to tweak one of Patrick’s nipples. Patrick gasps beneath him, which spurs Jonny into doing it again. He leans down and tongues at the hard, pink bud, then wraps his lips around it and sucks.

Patrick reacts like he’s been shot, jerking and shouting and pushing his chest farther against Jonny’s mouth. Jonny wiggles the tip of his tongue over the nipple, then draws back so he can get his fingers on it again. Patrick whines, grinding down against Jonny’s dick, and reaches up to put his hand on top of Jonny’s.

Jonny drags both of their hands the rest of the across Patrick’s chest and laces their fingers together, presses them into the mattress and fucks in again. He reaches up and pries Patrick’s fingernails from where they’re embedded in his shoulder, then does the same thing to their other hands. 

“Jonny—” Patrick sighs when Jonny gets the angle just right. There are curls falling into his eyes, the ends just barely damp with sweat. Jonny really wants to kiss him again, but there are such pretty moans falling from his mouth. It would be a shame to silence them. 

Patrick makes a strangled noise as Jonny starts to lose his rhythm, rocketing towards the edge faster than he can help. “I’m close. I’m so close.”

“Me too, baby,” Jonny groans, and Patrick shouts and comes hard between them. 

There are stars behind Jonny’s eyes. He watches Patrick shake apart under him, thighs trembling and chest heaving. He’s so fucking beautiful, and Jonny just made him _come—_

Patrick coils his arms around Jonny’s neck, and Jonny tumbles over the edge in a jumble of curse words and broken moans. He collapses back onto his forearms, barely conscious enough to keep himself from suffocating Patrick. 

They’re pressed chest-to-chest again, now slick with sweat and lube and come. Jonny can feel Patrick’s heartbeat thundering behind his ribcage. Patrick’s arms stay coiled around Jonny’s neck even as he sits up to strip himself of the condom and toss it in the trash can. 

“Kobé,” Patrick murmurs, even though Jonny kisses the trash can by a good foot and a half. He tightens his arms when Jonny lays back down and puts all of his weight on him, crushing him.

Patrick slaps at Jonny’s back, and he hisses a little because he’s about ninety percent sure that Patrick’s nails left at least Grade I muscle tears in his shoulders. But whatever. Jonny sucks a hickey into Patrick’s neck that he’ll barely be able to cover in retaliation. 

——

It’s late, a little after ten, two days later. Jonny’s lounging on the second bed in the Sharps’ room. Maddy’s curled up on Jonny’s chest, dozing, while Sharpy and Abby cuddle on the other bed and watch the rerun of _That’s So Raymond_ playing on the tv. Jonny’s phone buzzes, and when he fishes it out of his pocket, he sees it’s Patrick. 

_“Rosie died.”_ Patrick says when he picks up, and Jonny goes tense all over. 

Maddy lifts her head in question, so Jonny soothes a hand up and down her back to get her to go back to sleep. “Oh shit.”

Patrick sniffles on the other line. Jonny’s heart breaks at the sound. _“Her blood pressure got too high. Her heart took too much damage.”_

“Oh Patrick,” Jonny croons, “I’m so sorry.” Sharpy looks over at him. Jonny ignores him. 

_“We all kind of expected it, when she suddenly got worse. You remember? The day we met for lunch at the aquarium’s restaurant?”_

For a moment, it sounds like Patrick’s begging Jonny to know what he’s talking about — as if Jonny hasn’t spent the past few weeks thinking about it. He thinks about every encounter with Patrick, always aware in the back of his mind that they’ve only got a few weeks left. 

“I remember.” He says softly, and hears Patrick exhale shakily.

_“She just never got better. Like I said, we kind of expected it, but — it’s different, knowing she’s actually gone, you know?”_

Patrick sounds on the precipice of breaking into uncontrollable sobs. Jonny thinks he’ll cry himself if he hears Patrick cry. He gets up and deposits Maddy in the warm spot, asks, “Do you want me to come over,” and hopes that it doesn’t come off creepy.

Patrick sniffles again, then hiccups, and says, _“I don’t want to interrupt your vacation.”_

Jonny’s already up and heading to his room. “I’m here for another week and a half, Patrick. You’re not interrupting anything.”

_“It’s just- everyone else is mourning with their families, and-and mine is in Buffalo—”_

“Stop,” Jonny tells him, “Don’t make yourself feel guilty for wanting to be with someone right now. I’ll be there in ten.”

He gets a quiet, _“Okay,”_ then hangs up. His phone pings with a text message as he’s tugging on his shoes. 

Sharpy appears in the doorway. “Everything okay?”

“One of the turtles at the rescue died,” he tells him, “Patrick’s favorite,” and Sharpy’s face falls, “Oh shit.”

Jonny snorts. “That’s what I said.” He grabs a light jacket from the floor and hunts for his keys. “I’m headed over to his place. He wants some company.”

“Course,” Sharpy nods, “Know when you’ll be back?”

Jonny stuffs his wallet and phone into his pockets and shrugs. “Depends on how long he wants me to stay.”

Sharpy pats his shoulder, then grabs it hard enough to keep Jonny in place. There’s a gentleness in his eyes that's usually only reserved for his kid and his wife. “Just let me know.”

Jonny gives him a curt nod. “Will do.” He promises, then shuts the door behind him.

He takes the Sharps’ car. The drive is shorter than he remembers, and he arrives at Patrick’s apartment complex in record time. He takes the stairs to get rid of the antsy feeling buzzing beneath his skin. It’s only when he’s knocking on Patrick’s door that he fully realizes he’s about to enter Patrick’s home.

Jonny kind of wants to die when Patrick opens the door, because he’d rather be dead than see him this devastated. His eyes are red, cheeks puffy and nose the color of a cherry. There’s dried tear tracks on his chin, but when Jonny reaches out to wipe a fresh tear from beneath Patrick’s eye, he finds that his cheeks are still a little wet. 

“Jonny,” he whimpers, and that’s all it takes for Jonny to step fully into the apartment, shut the door behind him, and sweep up Patrick tight in his arms. Patrick dissolves into sobs the moment he’s pressed into Jonny’s chest. 

His curls are a disaster when Jonny rests his face there, a tell-tale sign that he’s been yanking on them in despair. He stands in the doorway, letting Patrick cry into his chest, feels his hands balling up the back of Jonny’s shirt, and rocks them on his feet, side to side in slow, even tilts. He runs a hand through Patrick’s hair, scratching at his scalp and untangling his fingers from the catch of the knots. 

“Oh, sweetheart,” Jonny croons, “It’s alright. It’s gonna be alright.”

He walks them over to the couch, one tiny step at a time. He kind of cradles Patrick, one hand on his neck and the other on his back, as he lays Patrick across the couch, but Patrick is strong despite how small he is, and he keeps a tight hold on Jonny’s shirt that forces Jonny down with him.

So. They’re cuddling on the couch. Jonny can get behind it. 

He lays there with Patrick’s face tucked into his shoulder, ignoring the hot splash of tears that fall onto his shirt and seep through to his skin in favor of rubbing Patrick’s back and whispering gentle words into his ear.

“We knew,” Patrick sniffles, curling his face impossibly closer, “It was only a matter of days.”

Jonny puts his nose in Patrick’s hair. He smells of the chlorine and suntan lotion — banana, because coconut is more of a Florida scent, according to Patrick. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

Patrick stays silent. He’s pulled himself into a ball, as if it will shield him from the pain. He’s kind of wrapped up in Jonny’s embrace, knees pressed between Jonny’s and head buried in his shoulder, with his arms wound tight around Jonny’s solid torso. Jonny’s arms are wrapped across Patrick’s body, clinging to him like a koala. Patrick’s holding on just as tight. 

Patrick wiggles downward, just a little, so that he can press his face into Jonny’s pecs. He lays there, breathes. He can feel Jonny’s heart beating steady against his cheek. “I thought she would pull through,” he says, “like last time.”

Jonny squeezes him tighter. “Oh sweetheart.”

He hears Patrick whimper, a pitiful sound that makes Jonny’s eyes water. They lay like that, holding onto one another, and Patrick falls asleep to the gentle pulse beneath Jonny’s skin. 

——

“So the Fourth of July is coming up,” Jonny says offhandedly, standing in the middle of a corner shop downtown. He’s got his phone jammed between his ear and his shoulder, and Maddy’s climbing about in his arms since Abby and Sharpy are off shopping, “Sharpy’s got a bud who lives on the Cooper River that’s gonna lend us their boat.”

 _“That sounds fun.”_ Patrick replies. He’s on his break right now, but based on the noise in the background, Jonny guesses he’s looking out at the river at the northeast side of the aquarium. _“But why are you celebrating the Fourth of July? Aren’t you all Canadian?”_

“Mhm,” hums Jonny, reaching out to stop Maddy from shoving a puka shell necklace into her mouth. It falls to the floor with a slippery _plop._ The necklaces are kind of nice, though; Jonny chooses one with blue specks and that’s not covered in baby slobber, twists it around in his fingers, “Maddy likes looking at the fireworks, and I like boating.”

 _“All Canadians like boating,”_ Patrick snorts, because he’s extremely pro-American and will die saying so, _“and fishing. You Canadian freaks.”_

 _You’re fucking a Canadian freak,_ Jonny thinks, but doesn’t say it. 

“You should come with us,” is what he says instead, ignoring the insult completely, “since it _is_ your holiday, and all.”

 _“If you wanted to see me wet and shirtless, you could have just asked instead of going through with an elaborate scheme,”_ Patrick teases, because he’s a red-blooded, egotistical asshole, _“Sounds fun. Pick me up by six. It’ll give you some time to get out there and get settled and still have some daylight.”_

“Sure, Pat,” Jonny smiles and pays for the necklace. He even gets Maddy a rubber dolphin toy, because he’s the cool uncle. 

Per Patrick’s orders, they pick him up at six on the dot, trunk packed with coolers full of sandwiches and booze. He greets Sharpy and Abby, smiles at Jonny, and puts all his attention into Maddy and tickling her sides to hear her high pitched giggles, because Maddy has officially replaced Jonny’s spot as Patrick’s favorite person. 

Jonny and Abby both have boating licenses, but it’s Jonny who volunteers to drive out onto the water as they’re loading the boat. 

“Trying to show off for your boy?” Abby smirks, nudging him in the side. 

“Hm?” Jonny asks, tearing his eyes away from Patrick as he dances around on the dock with Maddy tucked in his arms. “What did you say?”

Abby just grins at him and walks away.

Patrick’s still got Maddy in his arms by the time the boat is loaded and they’re ready to untie from the dock. Jonny watches helplessly as Patrick wiggles the tiny baby life jacket over her and snaps the buckles closed around her torso. Maddy sticks one of her little hands in her mouth, and waves the other slobbery one around in the air. When Abby comes over to take Maddy back, Patrick looks reluctant as he gives her up and slides into the seat beside Jonny’s.

Jonny pulls his shirt over his head, tossing it into his bag by the cooler. He takes his place at the wheel, grinning at Patrick whose eyes are locked firmly on Jonny’s pecs.

“Watch the beer.” He yells, then presses the gas enough to start a slow descent away from the dock and into the shallows. “Ladies and gentlemen, please keep your arms, hands, legs, and feet inside the vehicle when in motion. As always, make sure all small things that could fly out of the boat are safe and secure.”

Sharpy pats the cooler held tight to the side of the boat with an elastic cord. Jonny turns his attention to Patrick. “Are you safe and secure?”

“Ha ha, another short joke,” says Patrick. 

Jonny blows him a kiss, checks to make sure they’re out of the shallows, then speeds off. Despite the water that gets splashed in his face, Patrick leans his head against his arms on the side of the boat, wind whipping his curls every which way. They’re already so knotted without the wind stirring them up; Jonny can’t begin to imagine what they’ll be like at the end of the night. 

Jonny does his best to focus on the river in front of him and not run into any sand barriers, but Patrick makes it really fucking difficult to keep his eyes off of him. He’s got a blanket draped over his shoulders, despite it being eighty-nine degrees out, and he keeps spitting the water off of his lips that splashes against them. He’s smiling at Abby, though, as she points out all the pretty things to Maddy to distract her from throwing off her headphones that are muting the sound of the boat motor. 

Eventually, they get to a nice spot close enough that the fireworks will be nice and big, but far enough away from the houses so that they’re a nice line against the horizon. 

The first thing they do is break open the beers. Abby takes one for the team and decides to be the sober one, since she’s the only other person who can drive a boat and Jonny _really_ wants to have a beer tonight. He’s got to try to not spring a boner watching Patrick scratch in the spot directly between his pecs, and he can’t do that if he’s sober.

There’s a sliver of sun still peeking out from the line of the water, and the air is still warm from the afternoon heat. Patrick sheds his blanket and shirt, then clambers off the boat and into the river. 

“Is it warm?” Jonny asks, even though he already knows the answer.

Abby pulls off her clothes and gets into the river, too, says “Who cares,” because she’s insane and would get into freshly-thawed water just because she felt like it. 

“It’s very warm,” Patrick tells Jonny, smiling up at him, curls falling into his eyes.

A hand makes contact with his shoulder, and when he turns, Sharpy is looking at him with a bland expression. “You’re not allowed to get a boner around my daughter, Toe-es.”

Jonny gapes at him, horrified. Patrick just sticks his tongue between his teeth in glee and dunks himself under the water. 

“I hate you all,” says Jonny. 

Once the embarrassment has disappeared, Jonny sinks into the water as well and swims around the boat. It’s been a while since he’s been out on a boat, probably last summer up in Winnipeg. It feels normal, and Jonny welcomes the feeling, missing the summers back home when he was growing up, when he didn’t have to captain an NHL team, when the weight of the world and the franchise wasn’t sitting on his shoulders. When he could see a pretty boy and actually do something about it.

He dips under the surface, feeling the water rush around his face. It’s quiet beneath the water, peaceful, and despite the water flooding his ears, he can hear it flowing by, away from here and onto its next destination. That’s the thing Jonny’s always loved about the water — it never worries about where it’s headed, just goes along for the ride and sees where it ends up. It’s all Jonny’s ever wanted to do, and has never been able to achieve. 

He feels gentle hands close around his cheeks, so he swims back up and breaks the surface. Patrick’s in front of him, face soft in the starlight. “Wanted to make sure you weren’t drowning under there.”

His tone tells Jonny that he’s teasing, so he reaches forward and knocks Patrick in the shoulder. “Disturbing my peace and quiet, eh?”

“Why would you want peace and quiet when you have _me?”_ Patrick asks, all faux-outraged. 

Jonny can’t respond, because Sharpy says, “Ew, stop _flirting,”_ and then a firework explodes in the sky.

Abby gets back onto the boat to rummage around for some beers, but Jonny and Patrick stay in the river a little longer, treading water and staring up at the fireworks bursting in reds and whites and yellows. Beneath the water, Patrick’s ring and pinky fingers brush against Jonny’s palm. Without a second thought, Jonny closes his hand around Patrick’s, lacing their fingers together and holding tight. Patrick squeezes his acknowledgment and continues to watch the fireworks. 

“Happy Fourth of July, you American moron,” Jonny tells him.

“You missed such a good opportunity to make a Green Day reference,” frowns Patrick, but kisses Jonny anyway when he puts a hand on the edge of his jaw and leans in. 

The fireworks go for an hour. By the time they’re finishing up, staggering in the sky, everyone is back on the boat and all three men are drunk. 

“Never have I ever joined a sorority.” Patrick says, lifting his beer in the air.

Abby takes a shot, but Jonny sits up, then loses his balance, then lifts himself back up on his arm to look over at Patrick with furrowed eyebrows. “You went to the-” he pauses, trying to regain his train of thought, “-College of Charleston. And you never joined a soror-isy?”

“Sorority, genius,” Patrick snorts, because somehow he’s not as drunk as Jonny, “And no, I didn’t. Too busy studying and working. Out of state tuition is a _bitch.”_

 _“Baby.”_ Sharpy yells, also drunk, and covers Maddy’s little toddler ears. 

Abby, who’s only had one shot of whatever Sharpy put in the cooler, gets behind the wheel because she’s sober and god knows Jonny would drive them right into someone’s backyard. Sharpy’s friends help her tie off the boat at their dock, and Abby herds them off of the boat and into the car.

“Where do you live again, Patrick?” She asks as they’re driving, because Sharpy was the one who drove to and from Patrick’s place and Jonny’s got his address.

“Um,” Patrick says wisely, then falls asleep.

“Jonny, can you hand me your phone?” Abby tries. “I need Patrick’s address.”

But Jonny’s not having it, because though he is drunk, he’s still smart. “But then he’ll have to leave.”

“You can see him tomorrow.” 

Jonny glares and tightens his arms around Patrick’s middle. He isn’t wearing a seatbelt and is half sprawled down Jonny’s chest. “No.”

Abby sighs and makes the turn for their hotel. 

Sharpy’s sobered up a little by the time they start unloading everything. Abby takes Maddy and their boat bag while Sharpy drags the cooler behind him like it weighs a ton. Jonny and Patrick stumble their way down the halls and into Jonny’s room, arms around each other as if either of them are sober enough to catch the other if they go down. 

“Your bed is so big,” Patrick says, awestruck, as Jonny takes off his pants and gets stuck in his shirt. 

Patrick rips it off of him, the force of the pull mixed with their imbalance of being drunk has him toppling backwards onto the bed. Jonny giggles helplessly in nothing but his boxers. 

Jonny’s almost naked and Patrick is fully dressed — save for his shoes which are somewhere in the room — but they both snuggle up together under the covers. Patrick gropes languidly at Jonny’s dick, but they both fall asleep before anything can happen.

——

Jonny knew he was running on borrowed time. He knew as soon as he laid eyes on Patrick that it would only end in heartbreak when they had to leave.

They’re at Patrick’s, curled up together in his bed while they watch _Suits._ Patrick’s been tracing the lines of Jonny’s torso for the past fifteen minutes — the dips of his collarbones, under his pecs, hand splaying across his diaphragm before his finger goes back into a point and glides down the creases of his abs. Like he’s trying to make a map out of it. Like he’s trying to not forget. 

Jonny catches his hands and kisses his knuckles. He can hold both of Patrick’s hands in one of his, so he takes the other and cups Patrick’s cheek. Patrick leans into it. Every flutter of his eyelashes casts shadows over his cheeks. “I don’t want this to end.” He whispers.

“Who says it has to?” Jonny asks, “FaceTime was made for a reason.”

Patrick curls into Jonny’s body even more. “You think it could work? You’ve only known me for three weeks, Jon. What happens if you go back and you decide all the models that throw themselves at you are better?”

Jonny bumps his nose with Patrick’s. “Stop it,” he says, “You’re doing that thing where you’re trying to find reasons that you’re not good enough. You _are._ I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t think so.”

When Patrick looks at him, his eyes are glistening with unshed tears. “You’ll call me every day, right?”

“As often as I can,” Jonny promises. 

“Kiss me,” demands Patrick, and who is Jonny to say no to that?

Patrick’s lips taste like strawberries. His hands are cold, fingers chilled as they slide across Jonny’s hips and into his shirt. Jonny shuffles closer and cups Patrick’s jaw with his hand, grinds his hips forward into Patrick’s. Patrick’s fingers dig into the muscle of Jonny’s back, and then he shocks back to reality enough to fight with Jonny’s pants to get it off.

Jonny goes slow, dragging their clothes off and tossing one of Patrick’s legs over his hip. It’s their last chance to burn this picture, the feel of Jonny’s dick against Patrick’s, before Jonny flies halfway across the country and won’t return until God-knows-when.

“Hurry up,” Patrick wines, kicking out his free leg like a child. 

Jonny leans down to kiss him again, covering Patrick’s body with his own. “Be patient,” he laughs, “I wanna take my time with you.”

Patrick pouts, but he does like the idea of drawing this out a little longer. Jonny smiles when he settles, blinking up at the brunet patiently. “Well? Get on with it.”

“Brat,” Jonny rolls his eyes, but leans forward and presses a gentle kiss to the side of Patrick’s neck. His lips are wet and soft, and they peck and pepper slowly down Patrick’s neck and across his skin. He bites at the juncture of his neck and shoulder, then soothes the mark with his tongue. 

One of Patrick’s hands rests against the dip where Jonny’s back meets the curve of his ass, and the other he uses to scratch gently up Jonny’s spine, smiling when Jonny shivers above him, lips still dragging over his neck. He brings that hand up to slide into Jonny’s hair, scratching at his scalp and carding through the longer brown strands that fall in front of his face. Jonny hums, lips moving down Patrick’s chest, leaving a trail of red marks in his wake that are sure to turn into hickeys by the morning. 

“You’re a possessive asshole,” Patrick scoffs. 

Jonny lifts his head, pupils blown wide, lips red and swollen from his work. “You’re _mine.”_

And— huh. Patrick shivers at the words. “Yeah, Jon,” he croaks out, “and you’re mine.”

Jonny’s hips buck a little and it drags his dick across Patrick’s, causing Patrick’s toes to curl. “Oh.”

Jonny goes back to bite hickeys across Patrick’s body, over his abs that bunch under Jonny’s teeth, down to the sensitive skin below Patrick’s belly button, and even lower to the patch of blond pubes settled around Patrick’s aching dick. Jonny noses at the hairs, then drags lips over the base of Patrick’s cock. 

“If you bite my dick, I’m punching you in the face.” Patrick says with a shaking voice. 

He feels Jonny smile, then start to lave at his cock. Patrick jumps when he feels a slick finger probe at his hole then slip inside. He doesn’t know when Jonny grabbed the lube and slicked up, but whatever. Who is he to question Jonny’s sex magic?

Jonny drags his teeth lightly across the top of Patrick’s dick before turning his attention to the head, suckling as he adds a second finger. Patrick’s hips rise off the bed without permission, and it pushes his dick farther into Jonny’s mouth. He tries to fuck a little into Jonny’s throat, but Jonny pulls off and shoots him an amused look, fingers still working him open.

 _“Jonny,”_ Patrick whines. 

“I told you, I’m taking my time,” laughs Jonny, kissing Patrick’s navel.

“But you’re going to _slow.”_

“Too bad,” Jonny smiles, then takes Patrick in his mouth again. Patrick moans and fists the sheets. 

His leg starts twitching when Jonny pins him on three fingers, the mix of the burn of the stretch and the pleasure of Jonny brushing across his prostate overwhelming every part of him. Usually, Jonny would have him desperate and halfway to an orgasm by the time he sticks his dick in, but Patrick feels on the precipice of tipping over just by the drag of Jonny’s fingers in and out of his hole, half out of his mind and squirming helplessly. 

“Jonny,” he warns, feeling his belly tighten, “I’m gonna— you gotta get out, I’m — I want your _cock—”_

“Shh, you’re okay,” Jonny coos, head between Patrick’s legs with his lips attached to the inside of his thigh, pressing his fingers more firmly against his prostate, “You’re gonna come just like this, baby. Just for me.”

It’s an orgasm Patrick’s never felt before. He’s coming, and it feels good, but it’s _different._ He can’t open his eyes. All of the blood rushes to his head and clogs his ears, and he’s reduced to nothing but the pleasure point between his legs where come is pouring out of the head of his dick at a rate Patrick’s never seen before.

He gasps and jerks in Jonny’s arms, pinned by a hand and the fingers still massaging his prostate. Tears sting as they gather in the corners of his eyes. “Oh _god.”_

Jonny pets at his hair, whispering little nothings into his skin, chest heaving as if it had been him who just came hard enough to lose all feeling in his legs and not Patrick. Patrick can’t feel his legs. 

“So fucking gorgeous, God,” Jonny curses, hand working furiously over his cock, “You look so good, Pat, you have no idea.”

Patrick makes a garbled noise, and Jonny shoots all over Patrick’s chest and bruises with a hoarse cry. He’s only got enough strength to keep him up over Patrick for a few seconds, but he uses them to kiss Patrick back to reality before collapsing beside him. 

Patrick still can’t move his legs, and he’s not sure which one of them is breathing harder. He’s sweaty and covered in come and there’s lube dripping out of his hole and sliding down his asscheek, but he doesn’t care. He doesn’t care because Jonny’s a just-as-sweaty heap beside him, who’s still panting into the pillow. When Patrick looks over, he realizes for the first time that Jonny hardly has any tan lines. There’s a faint blend of colors at the curve of Jonny’s ass, and again down by his thighs, but it’s hardly noticeable, like Jonny’s been tanning nude for the past three weeks. Which, he might have been. 

He eyes Jonny’s humongous ass again, then uses his core strength to flip onto his side, and then again so that his front is draped over Jonny’s thighs and the side of his ass. Jonny grunts at the sudden weight, but doesn’t move, not until Patrick sinks his teeth into the fattiest part of Jonny’s butt. 

Jonny yelps and flails a little as he tries to look behind him. Patrick licks over the mark with his tongue, then wiggles up to level himself with Jonny’s face. 

“Did you just bite my ass?” Jonny asks, voice rough and raspy. Patrick shivers at it. 

“Maybe,” he says, then pushes Jonny so he’s lying on his side. He nestles against Jonny’s slick skin, ignores the irritated groan when the come covering Patrick’s chest sticks to his, and starts kissing across Jonny’s pecs.

Jonny’s hand comes up to cradle the base of Patrick’s skull. “What are you doing?” He asks, a twinge of amusement hidden in his voice, when Patrick bites down on the meat of Jonny’s pec. 

“Marking my territory,” Patrick snuffs, and bites harder than before into Jonny’s shoulder at the thought of long-legged models flirting with Jonny back in Chicago, far, far away from Patrick.

Jonny hums, but he sounds pleased, resting his cheek to the pillow as he lets Patrick leave his own set of hickeys across his body, closing his eyes against the feel of Patrick’s plush lips sucking bruises into his skin. 

When Jonny wakes, Patrick’s sitting up next to him in Jonny’s sweatshirt. Jonny runs his big hand up Patrick’s thigh and feels only bare skin that tells him Patrick’s freeballing it under there. 

Patrick’s not incredibly small, shoulders big where his waist is smaller, thighs thin but lean, and he’s not a twink, tight abs and defined pecs; but Jonny is an athlete, and he works out every day. His shoulders are wide and his chest is thick, and when Patrick stands the hoodie falls down to cover the tops of his thighs, just barely concealing his cock and balls. The collar droops slightly down his shoulder on one side. 

“Fuck,” Jonny says eloquently and fumbles around for his phone. He snaps a picture of Patrick’s sleep-rumpled look, face half confused and curls askew on his head. There’s an imprint from the pillow on his cheek, a few on his thighs from the sheets. 

They shower together. Jonny’s back stings from the scratches left there by Patrick’s nails the night before, and despite the wandering hands as they soap each other up, they don’t get each other off. It’s slow and lazy, mouthing at each other’s skin, sipping little kisses and hoping that they never have to leave their little bubble, where time stands still and it’s just the two of them in the world. There’s hickeys scattered across Patrick’s chest, created in a haze of possessiveness and anguish. 

Jonny’s making eggs in nothing but his boxers when Patrick frowns, “You have to go soon.” He doesn’t have pants on, but he’s put on Jonny’s sweatshirt again. The strings are fringy at the ends from where the plastic tore off. Jonny thinks he’ll let him keep it. “Sharpy will drive off without you.”

“He’d never leave me,” Jonny says, “Maddy would never speak to him again.”

Patrick tries to smile, but it’s weak. Jonny dishes up the eggs and slides the plate in front of Patrick, before coming around and wrapping his arms around his waist. He tucks his head into Patrick’s neck, breathes in the smell of Irish Spring and an underlying saltwater scent that never seems to go away despite how many showers he takes. 

“It’s not goodbye.” Jonny promises, dragging his lips across Patrick’s neck. He slides his hands up Patrick’s bare thighs and inside the hoodie to rest against his abs, warm and hard beneath his palms. “It’s see you soon.”

“Wow, you sure you’re not secretly into chick flicks?” Patrick chirps, but his voice is shaking. Jonny kisses his cheek, lets his lips hover there, and listens to the sounds of Patrick breathing and the seagulls squawking out the open window. He tightens his grip on Patrick’s waist. He doesn’t want to let go.

——

_July 2012_

It’s raining in Chicago, but Patrick’s snapchat shows that Charleston is bright and sunny, because he’s out on a boat with his coworkers looking wet and sunburnt and very happy. 

He taps out _‘wear more sunblock’_ when he swipes up on the story — Patrick had forced him to get a snapchat account when he was down there, for whatever reason, and he’s still trying to get the hang of it. 

_‘SPF 150 baby’,_ is what Patrick replies with, followed by a string of emojis that don’t really make sense in the context of their conversation, but Jonny’s used to that. Patrick loves his emojis.

Media Day takes from eight a.m. to six p.m. and Jonny is thoroughly exhausted by the time he gets home. But he thinks they got enough of him for a good amount of videos that the fans always love, some quotes for articles and a confirmation that he’ll be attending the Blackhawks Convention later that month. 

“Are you sure you can’t come?” Jonny asks for the fifth time that week, sounding like a petulant child and not caring at all. 

_“I wish I could,”_ Patrick frowns, _“But I work a double on the 20th, and Marla is going on maternity leave on the 21st and I promised to cover that day while Annie finalizes the new schedules.”_

“Fine,” huffs Jonny, and pretends not to hear the way Patrick laughs at him.

He spends most of July up in Winnipeg with his parents to make up for not being there in June, like he usually is. He fishes a lot, and even convinces Dan and his wife to camp in Jonny’s backyard like they did when they were kids. 

Jonny updates his mother on Maddy, how Sharpy already wants to try for another baby and how the vacation in Charleston went.

“Who is that?” She asks when Jonny shows her another picture that has Patrick in it. He cringes. He’s usually on top of things like that.

“His name is Patrick,” Jonny tells her, biting at the inner skin of his lip, “We met him down there. He works at the aquarium.”

“Oh?” His mother zooms in on his face. It’s one of the pictures they took on the beach, sunset a bright yellow in the sky, orange clouds, and Patrick’s curls are sticking up everywhere from where he got them wet then fell asleep in the sand. The sand had gotten all in his hair and the salt water had hardened the curls enough to act as a sixty dollar bottle of hairspray. It’s one of Jonny’s favorite pictures. “He’s cute.”

“Yeah,” he says, and doesn’t realize it until it’s too late. 

His mother doesn’t tease him, though. She just hums and pats his shoulder, then asks if he’ll heat up the grill. 

He spends a lot of time on the lake, or with his parents. He texts and calls Patrick as often as he can. There’s a lot of late-night video chatting, and Jonny loses some sleep in the process, but he figures it’s worth it to watch Patrick’s face light up when he talks about his job.

 _“We got to release a turtle today,”_ he tells Jonny one night, the both of them curled up in their respective beds, lights out save for the lamps, way past Jonny’s bed time, _“We’d only had him for a week, but he did really well with his treatments. I got to go with them when they released him.”_

“Yeah?” Jonny asks, smiling, “That’s awesome.”

Patrick goes silent for a moment, lips thinning into a single line. _“It’s been a month since Rosie died.”_

Something ugly forms in the base of Jonny’s stomach at the look on Patrick’s face. “I’m sorry. At least she’s not hurting anymore.”

Patrick sighs sadly, then rolls over so he’s laying on his stomach and Jonny gets an unflattering shot of his nostrils. _“It’s been boring here without you.”_

It does nothing to help the sick feeling in Jonny’s stomach. “I’ll find a way to see you again.”

 _“How?”_ Patrick asks, and shit, his voice is wavering like it only does when he’s trying not to cry, _“You’ve got to be back in Chicago for the convention, and then training starts up again, and then the preseason.”_

It’s true. His schedule only gets more clustered from here. “I’ll figure it out,” he promises fiercely, “I swear.”

Patrick sighs again, but it’s a lot more relaxed than before. _“Okay,”_ he says, then, _“So Jackie’s got this new boyfriend…”_


	2. part two

_August 2012_   
  


The convention is a nice way to get his mind off Patrick. It’s always nice to see the fans, meet the support system that makes all of this possible. The panels get more and more interesting every year, and the team has a sleepover at Crow’s house Sunday night. There’s beer and a rerun of the 2010 Stanley Cup Final on the tv. It’s good.

“There’s talk about a lockout,” someone says as they’re getting ready for bed. No one acknowledges the statement. 

But once the weekend is over, he’s back to staring at the ceiling at two thirty in the morning, missing the feel of having Patrick beside him. It takes two weeks of August to go by before Jonny gives in and flies to Charleston without telling anyone. 

Anyone, that is, including Patrick. He realizes this as he stands lost in the middle of the Charleston International Airport. 

“Hey,” he says when Patrick picks up, “I’m at the airport. In Charleston. I can’t find a taxi.”

 _“You can’t find a — Jonny what the_ fuck _,”_ Patrick sputters, _“You’re so lucky I’m not working today. Hang on; I’ll be there in twenty.”_

It actually only takes him seventeen minutes, but Jonny thinks he might have broken a few speeding laws along the way. He’s wandering around in the parking lot, waiting for Patrick to show up. There’s not a lot of people around, so hopefully he can get a hug in without a photo getting taken. He already took a few with some fans when he left and when he got in. 

“You need a CAT scan,” Patrick huffs when he’s tossed himself out of the car, throwing his arms around Jonny in a tight hug, “What the hell is wrong with you, not telling _me_ that you were coming to see _me._ Does Sharpy know you’re here?”

When Jonny just smiles sheepishly at him, Patrick’s mouth falls open. “Does _anyone_ know you’re here?”

Jonny shrugs. “Not really. I just— missed you.” He takes a good, long look at Patrick, drinks in his fill. His sunglasses buried in his delicate curls, nose pink from the sun and peeling in a few places, freckles dotted across his cheeks. “Yeah. I missed you.”

A happy little blush dusts itself across Patrick’s face. He slugs Jonny in the shoulder. “I missed you, too, nerd.”

He helps Jonny shove the luggage in his car, and then they’re finally in the car with tinted windows that mean Jonny can bend himself over the console and kiss Patrick hello. So he does.

Patrick hums, pleased, and clasps his hand to the back of Jonny’s neck. His lips are a little chapped. Jonny has the sudden urge to rub carmex on them. 

“Later,” Patrick tells him when Jonny says as much, “For now, do I have to drop you at a hotel, or are you staying with me?”

Jonny leans back in the seat and watches the houses turn from red brick to colored wood. “Wherever you’d like me to go.”

Patrick drives by about eleven different hotels just to get back at Jonny for not telling him he was coming, but of course, Patrick ends up taking him to his apartment. It’s just as Jonny remembers it. It’s neat, save for the few scattered pizza boxes and dog-eared books he’s got lying around. The cactus in his windowsill still looks alive, so that’s good. 

“I don’t have a guest room,” Patrick says with a wince, “You can either bunk on the couch, or…”

“Or…?” Jonny asks, which is how he finds himself parking his suitcases and duffel bags in the corner of Patrick’s room.

It's just like he remembers it. It’s small, like the rest of his apartment. The bed is small, too, a full, with puffy pillows and soft sheets. There’s a heater against the bottom of one of the adjacent windows where he’s got a book on dolphins resting on the top. The walls are cream and the duvet is white and fluffy. It calls to Jonny. 

“I usually take the left side of the bed.” Patrick tells him. It’s not a statement: it’s a demand.

Jonny just shrugs and flops onto the bed, sprawling out in the middle like a starfish. Patrick stands at the end of the bed with his arms crossed. “I still can’t believe you’re here.”

Jonny extends his arms out, and Patrick crawls up the bed and slots himself between them with a happy little sigh. Jonny gathers him up and holds him tight. It’s such a cliché to say that Patrick fits right in his arms — and the truth is, he doesn’t really. Patrick’s got wide shoulders. Not as wide as Jonny’s, but wide enough. The side of his ribcage kind of crushes Jonny’s lungs, and it doesn’t take long for Jonny’s arm to start going numb where Patrick’s head is pressing against.

However. Patrick’s legs are skinny but won’t snap under the weight of Jonny’s thighs. They tangle nicely together, and despite Patrick’s freezing-cold toes, it’s a pleasant feeling to have some part of Patrick between his legs. His head tucks right into the space between Jonny’s neck and shoulder, lips catching on the divot there. He can feel Patrick’s eyelashes brushing against his skin when his eyes flutter.

He doesn’t fit perfectly against Jonny, but in a way, he does.

“Hey,” Jonny mumbles when the chapped skin of Patrick’s lips drag across his skin, “Where’s your carmex?”

Patrick feels groggy where he’s tucked into Jonny’s side, air heavy around them. “In the, um-”, he’s too busy basking in the glorious warmth that beats off of Jonny’s body — because he is and always will be a walking heater — to comprehend how to make a complete sentence, “-drawer. Nightstand.”

Jonny reaches a long arm over to the bedside table and rifles through the drawer until he feels the tiny container of carmex spinning around against his fingertips. He untwists it against his chest, then dips his finger in it to gather up some of the goop. As gently as he can, he rubs the gel over Patrick’s peeling lips, drags his fingers along the delicate Cupid’s bow. Eventually, he starts tracing, getting in all the framework before filling in between the lines as if he was coloring a picture. 

He loses time playing with Patrick’s lips, rubbing the medicine in and dragging his fingers along the skin, watching as it pulls beneath his fingertips in whichever direction he moves. 

“Does it taste gross?” He asks, but doesn’t get an answer, because Patrick is fast asleep against his shoulder.

Jonny smiles down at him, probably in a way that’s too fond for only knowing someone for two months, but whatever. It’s not like Jonny gives a shit. He recaps the carmex, puts it back in the drawer, wipes his hand on the sheets, and wraps himself back up against Patrick. He should probably change clothes, but that would require moving from his spot. Jonny wouldn’t move for the world. 

——

If Jonny was being honest, he’d been a little worried that two months without fucking each other was going to throw them off. He was incredibly wrong. 

Jonny has to pause once he’s fully seated inside of Patrick because he’s already staggering on the edge of coming like a rocket. He’s tight and hot around Jonny’s cock, wet from lube that’s sticking to Jonny’s pubic hairs and dripping down the tops of his thighs. He might have used too much, which is probably ruining the sheets, but whatever. His number one goal was to get his dick in there, bedsheets be damned. 

Patrick’s breathing about as hard as Jonny is, chest heaving with his nipples out and his head thrown back, panting to the ceiling. He’s got his eyes squeezed shut, like Jonny’s cock is so overwhelming he can’t even open his eyes. When he shifts, Patrick’s hole spasms around him. Jonny fucking needs a minute. 

“Been too long,” Jonny says as he pulls out, pushing back in slowly so Patrick can work himself open on his cock. Patrick makes a bitten-off noise that was probably an attempt at a response, but he nods his head and sends his curls flying. 

Jonny keeps the next handful of thrusts at a snail’s pace, and is thoroughly unprepared for Patrick to peel open his eyes, toss his legs around Jonny’s hips, and say, “I’m not a girl, Jon; _fuck me.”_

Jonny raises a single, perfect eyebrow at him, never one to back down from a challenge. “Okay,” he says, and widens his knees. He drags Patrick by the arm and hauls him forward, up off the bed so that he’s almost sitting, lube-slick fingers slipping across Patrick’s skin. Jonny’s next thrust in is brutal, and it lights Patrick up inside. 

He clamps a hand onto the back of Jonny’s neck, free hand perched on the bed behind him to hold him up. “Shit, shit, _Jonny.”_

Jonny straightens his back, hikes Patrick’s legs up around his waist and drags him closer, yanking him down on his dick and in his lap. Patrick tosses his head back with a strangled groan. Jonny’s balls swing between his legs as he jackrabbits into Patrick.

Patrick tries to move, but the most he can do is shuffle a few inches on either side. Jonny’s got him bracketed with both arms and pinned on his dick, with nowhere to go and nowhere to hide. The most he can do is close his eyes, but he doesn’t want to do that. He wants to watch Jonny, see the exertion on his face as he works his cock deep, wants to watch his face when he orgasms and think _fuck yeah, I did that._

“Jonny,” he groans, and Jonny’s eyelids flutter at the sound. His hand squeezes tighter to Jonny’s thick neck, nails scratching at the back of it. Distantly, he’s aware of how his legs are bouncing every time Jonny fucks in, thighs jiggling with the force behind it. His own cock slaps against his stomach, matching the sound of Jonny’s hips meeting Patrick’s and his balls slapping against his ass.

When he looks at Jonny’s face again, he finds his eyes on Patrick’s, pupils blown so wide he can hardly see the brown. Patrick makes a garbled sound and throws his other arm around Jonny’s shoulders, overwhelmed. It forces all of his weight on Jonny, who topples forward off-balance and lands on Patrick with a wet _slap._ He hoists himself up with his arms and fucks in even harder, more force with the new angle.

Patrick yells, legs bending even more. He’s still got his elbows hooked around Jonny’s head, and his mouth ends up hovering perfectly over Patrick’s nipples because Jonny barely leans down when he wraps his lips around one. Patrick moans a little hysterically, the world around him melting away to a single point between his legs, where Jonny’s big dick is hammering against his prostate. 

“Jonny,” he gasps, pushing his chest farther against Jonny’s mouth, _“Jonny—”_

Patrick’s orgasm rips out of him, and he screams loud enough to alert the neighbors on either side of him. He doesn’t even realize he hasn’t touched his cock until Jonny swipes his fingers through the mess on his belly and he jolts at the oversensitivity. 

“Oh fuck,” Jonny grunts and slams in once more, filling up the condom, buried to the hilt. 

He stays there, heaving, staring down at Patrick’s shaking body. There’s come all over his torso, abs trembling, chest wet with spit and lube. His curls are a mess and damp with sweat, face bright red, a splatter of come dripping off the side of his jaw. Jonny leans forward, mesmerized, and swipes it away. 

He ties the condom off and flicks it into the trash can, but before he can get up to get the box of Kleenex, Patrick drags him down next to him and wraps himself around him like an octopus, paying no mind to his come in between them. Jonny just hikes Patrick up his body and settles his hands, one on his back and the other on his ass. 

He lets them lay there for a little while, but the sun peeking through the curtains reminds Jonny of their plans for today. “C’mon, we need to shower.”

“Guh,” says Patrick eloquently.

“We wanted to go to the beach, remember?” Jonny tells him, “Before the gulls come.”

Patrick groans, but knows Jonny’s right. He lets Jonny roll out of bed, but when he stares expectantly at Patrick still under the blankets, Patrick opens his arms and demands that Jonny carry him.

“S’not my fault you’ve got a big dick,” Patrick grumbles as Jonny sweeps him up into his arms like a bride. Jonny grins, pleased.

——

They’re lounging on the couch while they watch _River Monsters,_ Jonny’s hands in Patrick’s hair _,_ when he gets a text from Sharpy with a link, and then another one following that says, _‘Did you go back??’_

Curious, Jonny clicks the link. It takes him to _Barstool_ Sports, which isn’t too odd, until he reads the headline.

**_Blackhawks’ Toews Vacationing in Charleston. Again._ **

Beneath the headline is a picture of the two of them leaving the Charleston International Airport just a few days ago. Patrick is almost all the way in the car — you can only see his leg and the back of his head, thank god — but Jonny is clear as day, opening the passenger’s side door. He’s still got his shades on but it’s obvious that it’s him, and the only comfort Jonny gets from the picture is that _Barstool_ was kind enough to blur Pat’s license plate. 

The article talks about Jonny being spotted with Sharpy earlier this summer, and that he’s returned to the Charleston area following the rumors of a lockout — sans the Sharp family. The author of the article kind of sidesteps the implications, but Jonny can hear the tone get more and more accusing as he reads. 

To the side of him, Patrick snuffles and drags him up so that he can lay his head against Jonny’s shoulder. “What’re you reading?”

Jonny instinctively locks his phone. “What? Nothing.”

“You’re a terrible liar,” says Patrick, and before Jonny can argue, Patrick digs his fingers into Jonny’s side. He yelps without meaning to, jolting and flinching away, and Patrick takes the opportunity to swipe Jonny’s phone from his hand. Jonny tries to lunge for it, but Patrick sits down right on Jonny’s lap and doesn’t move. 

“You’re an _ass.”_

Patrick puts his thumbprint in to unlock the phone — which he’d added prior to leaving the first time. “You love my ass.”

Jonny wants to bite back, but he sees the way Patrick’s eyebrows furrow at the phone screen, and he knows there’s no point. He falls limp against the couch, brings his hands up to rest against the top of Patrick’s thighs to play with his shorts. Jonny’s ninety percent sure Pat’s freeballing it under there. Maybe if he sticks a hand up there, Patrick will forget about the article. 

Jonny’s got his fingers on the inside of Patrick’s thigh when he says, “Quit it,” and Jonny freezes with his hand up the leg of Pat’s shorts. He tries to bat his eyes innocently, but Patrick gives him _a look_ and then continues reading the article. The farther he gets, the more he frowns. “Oh.”

Jonny averts his eyes away from Patrick’s face, settling on the place where his wrist meets fabric. He gently caresses the tender skin beneath his fingers with the pad of his thumb. 

When Patrick locks the phone and sets it aside, Jonny says, “You know I’m not ashamed about you, right?”

Patrick never thought he was, but it’s nice to hear it, anyway. “Yeah, I know.” He moves, and Jonny’s hand falls out of the shorts as Patrick crawls over to straddle him. Carefully, Jonny twines his arms around Patrick’s waist and settles him in his lap. “I’m just worried about _you._ I don’t want to be the reason you’re outed. Hockey fans can be really homophobic.”

Jonny leans up and presses a gentle kiss to Patrick’s lips, then goes in for a few more. “Don’t worry about me. Hawks PR is always on top of this kind of stuff.” He bumps noses with Patrick and kisses him again. “As long as pictures don’t come out of us fucking on the beach, I think we’ll be okay.”

Patrick smiles and swats at Jonny’s head. “As if I’d let you fuck me on the beach. I don’t want sand in my ass.”

They settle back against the cushions, Patrick a warm, comfortable weight in his lap. He scratches his nails through Jonny’s hair when he hooks his chin over Patrick’s shoulder.

They’re sitting in a comfortable silence, the _River Monsters_ marathon still playing quietly on the tv in front of him, when Patrick says, “The Shedd Aquarium offered me a job.”

Jonny hums, a tad annoyed that his sleepy haze has been disturbed. 

“The Shedd Aquarium, in Chicago.”

Oh _shit._ Jonny sits bolt upright, nearly toppling Patrick off his lap. He’s not very sleepy anymore. “Wait, what? How did this happen?”

Patrick shrugs, pushing Jonny back down onto the cushions. “Don’t move. You were comfy.” He respositions himself, sighing happily before continuing, “Shedd’s ratio of volunteers to people with an actual degree is terrible. I make a good amount of money here, but Shedd is willing to pay me twice the amount since the place is so big and gets more visitors than the South Carolina Aquarium.”

“But Shedd doesn’t have a turtle rescue?” Jonny frowns, playing with the string on Patrick’s — _his_ — hoodie. “That’s the whole reason you wanted to be a marine biologist.”

Patrick shrugs again. “Yeah, but I don’t just want to help turtles. I love turtles, but there’s other animals I’m interested in. I also like the teaching factor of being at an aquarium, and Shedd only allows biologists to do shows and stuff.” He burrows closer to Jonny. 

“Besides,” he adds quietly, “I don’t know if I can handle seeing any more turtles die.”

Jonny holds onto Patrick tighter and lets the air settle down around them. 


	3. part three

_November 2012_

_“I’ve never seen you this panicked,”_ Sharpy says from the FaceTime screen as Jonny tumbles around the house, trying to fix it up for Patrick, whose flight lands in thirty minutes, _“Not even during the playoffs.”_

Jonny huffs as he refluffs the throw pillows on the couch for the third time. “Need I remind you what happened the night before your wed—”

 _“Aht aht aht,”_ Sharpy interrupts and waves his hands frantically, _“We don’t talk about that!”_

Jonny takes another look around to make sure everything is right. There’s a pile of junk in the corner of the living room still, but whatever; it’s not Jonny Toews’s house if there’s not a mess somewhere. He’s a slob, and Patrick knows it. 

“I gotta go,” he tells Sharpy, walking over to his laptop, “I should head to the airport.”

Sharpy gives him a devilish smirk. _“Just let me know if I need to turn my phone off. Maddy’s been accidentally calling people from our phones, and I’d hate for her to call you when you two are—”_

“Bye Sharpy!” Jonny yells and slams the laptop screen shut. 

He keeps his hat low and his sunglasses high as he waits for Patrick in the airport. His leg taps sporadically against his will. He’s been to Patrick’s place more times than he can count, but Patrick’s never come to _Chicago._ He’s spent his birthday in Buffalo, but now he’s coming here, to stay with Jonny for however long he has before he has to be back at work.

“Boo,” someone says, and Jonny spins around as he stumbles to his feet and comes face to face with Patrick’s face. His tired, beaming, beautiful face. Jonny wants to kiss him so badly. 

He opts for a giant hug instead, and the pain of the chairs digging into his crotch is worth it to feel Patrick sigh happily against his neck and curl in close.

“Happy birthday, Pat,” Jonny says as they’re walking through the parking lot.

“Do you remember where you parked?” Asks Patrick.

Jonny sulks. “No.”

It takes them a good ten minutes of wandering the lot for them to find the car. Patrick talks his ear off catching Jonny up on his sisters and his parents, talking about how much he missed them and all the cuddling they did.

“You’ve got a lot of competition, here, Jonny.”

“Cuddle competition?” Jonny gawks, insufferable as always.

“Um, obviously,” says Patrick, “My sisters are the best at cuddling. I expect great things from you, considering you’re a competitive freak.”

“I am not that competitive,” Jonny scoffs, but is already working on his game plan. 

Patrick makes Jonny carry the heavy stuff. Jonny’s ready to complain, but then Patrick gives him a _look_ and squeezes his muscles bulging from his sleeves as he hefts the suitcase into his arms. 

“Fine, _princess.”_ He huffs and slaps Patrick on the ass as he walks by. He files the blush dusting Patrick’s cheeks away for reference. 

“What the fuck is _that?”_ Patrick shrieks from the kitchen. 

Jonny drops the bags in his arms and comes skidding into the room, alarmed. Patrick is staring at the cake on the kitchen island like it sprouted legs. “Uh— it’s a cake?”

“A cake,” repeats Patrick in disbelief, “You made me a birthday cake?”

Jonny shrugs. He’d spent an entire day shopping for the right ingredients, baking, and frosting the cake. By the time he’d gotten the cake frosted and in the fridge, his counters were slick with butter and his clothes were covered in flour. He’d ruined his shirt and had to wash his pants twice to get everything off of them. His cheeks flame in embarrassment at the memory. “It’s a carrot cake. It’s very healthy.”

“You made me a birthday cake.” Patrick grins. 

Jonny stands in the middle of the kitchen, helpless. “It’s gluten-free?” 

“I’m gonna suck your dick right here,” says Patrick.

He does, muscles Jonny against the nearest wall and sucks his brain out right through his dick. Afterwards, Jonny slides down the wall into a heap of limbs on the floor, legs effectively turned to jelly. 

Patrick plops himself on the counter and slices up a piece of cake, watching as Jonny comes back online. 

“You,” Jonny breathes, “are a menace.”

Patrick sticks his tongue out in retaliation. 

Jonny pulls his pants back up, washes his hands, then cuts a slice for himself. He’ll just do an extra long workout later. They eat in silence, Jonny leaning against the counter and Patrick kicking his legs where the dangle off the edge. 

“Want your birthday gift?” Jonny asks as they put their dishes in the dishwasher.

“Is it your dick?” Patrick asks, waggling his eyebrows. 

“No, you horny fuck,” Jonny snorts, “C’mere.” He leads Patrick to the bedroom where his gift is hidden away in the back of Jonny’s closet. “On the bed.”

“I like where this is going.” Patrick teases, taking a seat in the middle of the bed. 

Jonny rolls his eyes and digs the present out, knowing Patrick’s drinking in his ass while he does so. The gift itself is about as big as the numbers on the back of Jonny’s jersey. He had it made as soon as he got to Chicago, knowing there was no way he could do it himself. 

He hands the wrapped present to Patrick, then sits beside him. “Happy birthday. I, ah, hope you like it.”

“Dork,” Patrick coos, leans forward to kiss his cheek, then tears at the paper. 

Jonny balls it up and tosses it to the side, biting nervously at his lip as he watches Patrick pause when the bulk of the present is revealed. Gently, he pushes the paper away at the edges, tossing the final strips of paper onto the floor. “Oh.”

The turtle is drawn in stark black lines, details down to a T, even the rectangular mark on the fin. The paper is splattered with watercolor blues and greens, across the turtle and down the length of the sheet. Where the two colors blend into one, they make a pretty aquamarine, right over her heart. The picture is displayed in a shiny silver frame that matches the muted tones in Patrick’s living room.

“It’s Rosie,” Patrick says. 

He stares at the picture for a long while, not saying anything. Nervously, Jonny points at the rectangle, eager to make Patrick happy. “I sent a picture of her to this artist in Chicago. I made sure she put the rectangle mark, see?”

Still, Patrick is silent. His fingers skim over Rosie’s face, down to the aquamarine patch that represents her heart. When Jonny looks up at Patrick again, he notices the tears in his eyes.

Fuck. Now he’s done it. “Shit, Pat, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you.” He goes to take the picture, but Patrick yanks it away and presses it to his chest protectively. “Pat?”

“I love it,” Patrick croaks, “Jonny.”

Jonny smiles, relieved, and dips down to kiss him. “Happy birthday.”

Patrick kisses him for a while, one hand still clutched to his picture, but eventually he tires out enough to pull away and carefully put the picture up against the wall where it won’t get hurt. He climbs back into bed and tackles Jonny into the pillows. “Thanks for making me cry, asshole.”

Jonny reaches up to swipe at Patrick’s still-wet cheeks, brushing away the tears still gathered beneath his eyes. “You’re welcome.”

——

Jonny wakes up on his side, one arm splayed over the top of Patrick’s pillow, the other wrapped tight around his middle. Patrick’s shifted onto his back, one leg off the side of the bed and his other tangled between both of Jonny’s, whose toes are hanging off the end of the bed because Jonny is 6’2 and the bed is 74 inches. Most of the duvet is bunched up around Jonny’s middle and down his legs, but Patrick has enough that it hides his junk and the lower half of his torso. His mouth is open, which, _ha,_ looks like Jonny’s not the only mouth breather. 

Jonny sighs and closes his eyes again. He can see the light of the early morning starting to stream in through the spaces between the blinds, settling in a soft glow over Patrick’s face and the tip of Jonny’s nose. Patrick looks peaceful when Jonny takes a moment to just look at him, drink in everything he’s missed since the last time they saw each other.

He moves the arm across Patrick’s middle and ducks it under the duvet so that he gets skin-to-skin contact with Patrick’s abs. His fingers bump against them as he trails his hand across Patrick’s abdomen, then back, then over again, rubbing in slow circles. 

Patrick shifts under his hand, but he settles, eyes still closed and breaths still even. Jonny glances at the clock. He’s only got a few minutes before he needs Patrick to be up, and hey, his naked body is lying right next to Jonny’s, and wake up blowjobs are awesome.

Patrick’s at half-mast down Jonny’s throat when his knees bend, which tells Jonny he’s finally starting to wake up. It only takes a couple more bobs of his head for Patrick to moan, loud, like his filter hasn’t been turned on yet, and lift the hem of the duvet. “Jonny?”

Jonny hums, opening his eyes to glance up at Patrick though his eyelashes. He pulls off but licks a long, dirty stripe up his cock as he goes. Patrick drops the duvet and his head and stares up at the ceiling, overwhelmed, as Jonny wiggles the duvet off his head and down his back. It catches on the curve of his ass, and stays there. 

“Morning,” smiles Jonny, and then he ducks down to kiss the juncture of Patrick’s pelvis and thigh. 

“Wuh,” Patrick whuffs eloquently.

Jonny ignores him in favor of licking lazily at the sensitive underside of Patrick’s head, getting the tip of his tongue on the soft skin around his crown, right where it drives Patrick crazy. He shifts onto his forearms, crossing them over one another as he leans his weight forward on them, and goes to work.

Patrick whines like he’s been shot, body falling limply against the mattress.

Jonny sucks him off for a while, lazy and sloppy, traces the vein with his tongue until Patrick comes down his thrust with a broken whimper. 

Jonny crawls up his body with a pleased smile and leans down to kiss him. Patrick can taste himself on Jonny’s tongue, and his dick twitches in a feeble effort to get back in the game already. Jonny settles more of his weight on Patrick’s pelvis and just hangs out there, making out with Patrick despite his hard cock bobbing between them. 

Patrick hums happily into his mouth and drags his hands across the broad expanse of Jonny’s back, wide and beefed up from his summer training. He goes lower, feels Jonny’s back muscles bunch and relax beneath his fingers, down to the curve of the best ass Patrick’s laid his eyes on in his life. He takes two handfuls of said ass, flesh seeping from between his fingers, jiggling it around.

Jonnn laughs a little and smiles against his mouth. “You wanna fuck it?”

Patrick freezes, his mouth falling open at the words Jonny just said. “You— huh?”

Jonny snorts, “I said, do you wanna fuck my ass?”

Patrick’s mouth feels like cotton. His hands are still gripping tight to Jonny’s cheeks. “Um.”

Jonny reaches for the lube, twirling the packet around in his fingers. “I’m either gonna jack off, or you’re gonna fuck me. What’s it gonna be?”

Patrick feels pinned by Jonny’s dark eyes, but he finds it in him to look down between them where Jonny’s cock is red and leaking. He shifts, suddenly too hot under Jonny’s gaze and his body, and he feels his own dick press against Jonny’s ass, fattening up already. 

“I’ve— I’ve never, uh…”

Jonny’s grin goes bright. “Have you never fucked a guy before, Peeks?”

“Fuck you.” He fires back, but Jonny knows he’s right. 

Jonny leans down to kiss him again. “It’s okay. I’ll tell you what to do.” 

He gets Patrick on top of him, settled between his spread legs, then hands him the lube. Patrick makes a tiny noise in the back of his throat when he slides the first finger in, knowing that the tight, wet warmth of Jonny’s hole is going to be wrapped around his cock in a few minutes.

Jonny coaches him through adding the other two fingers, how to spread and fan them out, and how to find his prostate. Patrick struggles to find it for all of five seconds, and then Jonny makes a hard grunt and lifts his hips off the bed. “Right there. That’s good, baby.”

With wide eyes, Patrick stretches Jonny out with three fingers, tapping on his prostate with every push in. He glances up at Jonny, like he’s worried he’s doing something wrong, but Jonny’s pretty blissed out, and he closes his eyes with an encouraging hum.

Suddenly, he reaches out and grabs Patrick by the wrist. “M’kay, that’s good,” he says on a grunt, “Glove up and let’s go.”

Patrick’s hands are shaking as he rolls on the condom. It takes him a few tries to get it fully on all the way, because his fingers are slippery with lube and his whole body is trembling with the need to get inside. He slicks up his dick, positions himself at Jonny’s entrance, and freezes.

“It’s okay,” Jonny repeats. He puts one hand on the back of Patrick’s shoulder, and the other he uses to take Patrick’s dick and gently guide it in. 

Patrick groans when the head pops in, so much tight heat clenching down on him. His face feels slack, and he knows he probably looks like a moron, but fuck it. His _dick_ is inside Jonny’s _ass._ How have they never done this before?

“C’mon, keep going.” Jonny sighs, content, and widens his legs even more. He’s still got a hand on Patrick’s shoulder, so he uses that leverage to pull him forwards, easing his cock deeper. 

Patrick’s making these choked noises as more and more of his cock gets enveloped by Jonny’s hole, like he can’t handle the feeling. Jonny knows what that’s like; that’s how it was when Jonny first stuck his dick in Patrick, or when he fucked a guy for the first time.

“Are you-” stutters Patrick, “Can I—?

“Yeah, Peeks,” Jonny says and settles back against the pillows, “Have at it.”

Cautiously, Patrick gets his hands on either side of Jonny’s head, widens his stance at his knees, and makes his first thrust in. 

It always feels good to Jonny to have a cock splitting him open, but what really does it for him is the way Patrick looks, in such disbelief that it feels so good, that he can’t believe he ever went without it. He makes a hurt sound when Jonny purposefully tightens up, just to see Patrick’s reaction. Jonny drags Patrick down so that they’re almost pressed chest-to-chest, and Patrick takes the opportunity to bury his face in Jonny’s shoulder, so overwhelmed by everything. 

“Yeah, baby, just like that,” Jonny praises, pushing back some of Patrick’s curls so he can whisper in his ear, “Harder, I know you can do it.”

 _“Uh,”_ Patrick squeaks, panting against Jonny’s shoulder. He pushes his hips in faster, harder, face flaming at the sound of their hips meeting in quick, precise hits. “Jon— Jonny.”

Jonny inhales sharp through his nose when Patrick slams against his prostate. “You’re doing so well. So good for me. Makin’ me feel so good.”

Patrick moves his arms so that they’re wrapped tight around Jonny’s torso, nails digging harshly into the strong muscles of Jonny’s back. He’s pretty sure he’s drooling. “I wanna — I wanna make you feel good.” He whimpers. 

Jonny pets his hair and focuses on the sound of Patrick’s ragged breathing in his ear, the feel of his dick sliding in and out of his hole and pressing perfectly on his prostate. There’s a thin layer of sweat beading across Patrick’s skin, making Jonny’s other hand slip down his back. He sweeps that hand across Patrick’s ass, cupping down at the roundness where fat meets thigh. He pushes Patrick’s body forward when he thrusts in again, shoving him even deeper. 

_“Fuuuck,”_ Patrick whines, loud and cracking in the middle. Jonny helps him move, dragging his hips forward and in by the grip on his ass. It’s apparently really working for Patrick, because his thrusts get more erratic and he starts making broken-off moans, begging, “Jonny, Jonny. Please, I’m gonna— I’m—”

“Me too,” Jonny grunts, wrapping him up tight, “Come for me.”

Patrick whines high in the back of his throat and shoots hard into the condom, jerking in Jonny’s arms as he bites into Jonny’s shoulder. Jonny grips his ass and pulls him in as deep as he can go, grinds him up against his prostate, and comes all over Patrick’s chest. 

Patrick’s down and out, dead weight on top of Jonny with his teeth sunk hard into Jonny’s shoulder, stuck there like his jaw is locked for the time being. His dick is still hard and throbbing inside of Jonny, slowly softening. The latex feels weird against his sensitive walls, though, so he carefully slides Patrick’s cock out of him, gets the condom off, and tosses it in the trash. Yeah, he’s a pretty awesome boyfriend.

He lets Patrick come back to himself, breathing heavy through his nose. Slowly, he unhinges his jaw and removes his teeth from Jonny’s shoulder. The indentations left behind are a yellowish-white that is slowly turning into an angry red. There are a few tiny points that are beading with blood. Patrick smiles dopily at him, come-dumb and happy. Jonny can’t not kiss him.

“C’mon,” he tells Patrick, “We’re never going to get to the lake in time to watch the sunrise if we don’t get out of bed.”

Patrick groans and buries his face in his pillow, “I still can't believe we’re going to the lake in November.”

“We’re having a picnic on the dock.” Jonny says, then winks, “I’ll keep you warm.” Patrick chucks a pillow at him. 

Jonny’s got to pick him up and carry him to the bathroom for Patrick to actually leave the bed. Jonny got him that way, with his ass and his control-freak of a personality. Patrick is way too good for his ego. 

They don’t make it in time to see the sun start to peek out from the horizon behind Lake Michigan, but it’s only a third of the way up, so Jonny sits down on the dock by his boat and drags Patrick between his legs so that they’re sitting chest-to-back. They’re both wearing winter coats, but Patrick still fits comfortably against him. 

“I’m a little offended you could walk.” Patrick says to him as they watch the sky blend into yellows and pinks. 

“I’m a little offended that you made me carry you here.” Jonny quips back, because it’s true. Even after waking up with the sex bomb the way he did, Patrick was still sleepy, and he forced Jonny to carry him to the car (on his back), down to the lake (in his arms), and to their spot on the docks (on his back again).

“You love having me in your arms,” Patrick quips, tilting his back back onto Jonny’s shoulder, “Don’t front.”

They’re tucked away from prying eyes at the part of the lake that people rent to have their boats permanently docked, where no one is around, so Jonny feels like it’s safe enough to wrap his arms around Patrick’s waist and kiss him under the yellow-blue sky. 

“C’mon,” Patrick says when they break apart, “Let’s eat on the boat.”

They eat their weight in sandwiches and then decide to take a nap on the floor in the middle of the boat because they both woke up earlier than they would have liked — and besides, Patrick was right; Jonny loves having him in his arms. The gentle rocking of the boat on the lake lulls them right to sleep, Patrick curled up against Jonny with a hand on his navel. 

Jonny’s woken up a little while later by the piercing sound of a ringtone. Between his arms, Patrick squirms at the unpleasant sound, nose dragging across the skin of Jonny’s shoulder. Jonny shushes him, one hand wiggling up to pet at his hair while the other snatches his phone off the driver’s seat and connects the call. He kind of wants to snap at whoever’s on the other line for disturbing Patrick, but he figures that won’t bode well.

“‘Lo?”

 _“Jon,”_ the person on the other end greets, _“We need to talk.”_

——

“They want you to speak for the NHLPA?” Patrick asks, seated at the bar in Jonny’s kitchen later that day while they eat their omelets. Patrick’s is full of cheese. Jonny picked up three bags of shredded Mexican-style just for him.

Jonny nods, sipping at his mug filled with tea. “There’s going to be a few other players going. Crosby’s one of them. They want me there by Tuesday.”

Jonny turns to look at Patrick, eyes sad. He really doesn’t want to cut their visit short. He doesn’t want to have to leave any earlier than originally planned. But this is important — if things go well, it could end the lockout. Or at least, take another step closer to ending it. 

But Patrick doesn’t seem mad. He nods, leans over to kiss Jonny’s cheek, and tells him, “You do what you need to do,” then goes to put his plate in the dishwasher.

Jonny’s on a plane to New York the next morning. 

——

_December 2012_

_  
_He’s back in Winnipeg for Christmas. They haven’t reached any agreement yet, but he thinks the NHL is wavering. Sidney doesn’t think it’ll last past New Years.

His mother grills him on Patrick the entire time he’s there. 

“His Rosie died?” She coos as he fixes them lunch, “You didn’t tell me that. How terrible.”

Jonny nods, adding red onions to the cheese mixture in the skillet. “Yeah, he was pretty shaken up.” He frowns at the memory — of Patrick’s tear-stained cheeks and knot-tousled hair, laying with him on the couch until he’d calmed down enough for Jonny to herd him into the shower and get him cleaned up. 

“Well, at least he had you there to help him through it,” his mother says, but there’s a lift in her voice that Jonny picks up on, “What’s he up to lately?”

Patrick’s snapchat story mainly consists of beach pictures and videos of the animals at the aquarium, but he has a week off for Christmas that he’s spending in Buffalo with his family. It’s a shocking change of scenery. One morning, there’s a picture of the beach, and that afternoon there’s a picture of a Buffalo street covered in snow and Christmas lights. It was like a scene out of a Hallmark movie. 

“He’s back home for Christmas,” he tells her, taking the pot of noodles to the sink to be drained, “in Buffalo.”

“Buffalo?” His father says, surprised, as he walks in from the side door with Davidwhile shrugging snow off his clothes, “That’s far from South Carolina.”

His mother hums. “Yes, and South Carolina is far from Chicago, and they still went to visit during the summer, no?”

Jonny dumps the noodles into a colander and sets the pot aside, then brings his shoulders to his ears. He enjoys Patrick’s company, loves it, even, sex be damned. But he knows that what Patrick wants is the sex — and their friendship. What his mother is implying is simply impossible. 

However, he’s not about to tell his mother that they only flew out so that they could fuck. 

“It’s not like that, Maman,” he frowns as he brings the colander of noodles back to the stove to dump into the cheese mixture, then turns to his brother in a desperate attempt to change the subject, “Did you and Dad get the decorations up?”

David grins and slugs him on the shoulder. “Yeah, bro, no thanks to you.” He steals a cheese-covered noodle and slurps right in his face. 

It’s good to be home.

The next day, Jonny goes out early in the morning. His family is still asleep, so the house is quiet as he puts on his coat and snow boots and heads out the door with a bag in hand. 

He keeps the radio off as he drives. There’s hardly anyone out at this time, most still sleeping or just starting to wake up. It’s snowing, just a light fall, but there’s snow piled up at the edges of the roads from where they’d already been plowed and salted. 

It’s quiet, peaceful, and for a moment, Jonny can imagine bringing Patrick up here, showing him Canadian winters and spending Christmas in Winnipeg. Patrick would bitch about being in Canada, because his great American pride is bigger than his own ego, but he’d secretly love it. He’d watch the snowfall out of the car window in awe, take in the peaceful silence of the dawn, and pretend to hate it all. 

“We’re in _Winterpeg,_ Jonny,” he’d say, “when we could be in freaking Buffalo,” and then stuff his face with butter tarts that Maman keeps making him. 

Jonny pulls into the empty parking lot of the post office and hurries inside, bag clutched tight in his hand. He smiles at the worker at the front desk and hands over the packages inside the bag. He’d given the gifts for his team to them before he left, but Jonny hasn’t sent out Patrick’s Christmas gifts yet. He only just got his Buffalo address, which put Jonny behind schedule, but if the packages leave the post office by the end of the day, Patrick should get them by Christmas Eve. 

He drives around some more afterwards. He hasn’t been home in so long — which is a bit of an over-exaggeration, but it feels like forever. He stops at a Tim Horton’s and gets a coffee and some Timbits, and sits at a table in the back of the shop, staring out at the scenery outside. 

“Tim Horton’s, Jonny? Really?” He can hear Patrick say, can see him sitting in the seat across the table with a teasing little smile, “Timmies doesn’t compare to Dunkin’ Donuts.”

He takes another sip of his coffee. Winnipeg is starting to wake up now, more people walking down the sidewalks and more cars driving down the roads. He takes out his phone and shoots off a quick text to Patrick.

_Just sent you something in the mail. Should b there by c eve._

His texting game isn’t the best, but at least he puts proper punctuation. Patrick never puts punctuation in his text messages. He’s weird. 

His family is still asleep when he gets home. He toes off his shoes and dusts the snow off outside before he goes in and hangs everything up. He lays down in his bed, sighing as his hips crack and spine tingles. 

He’s been lulled into a comfortable silence when his phone buzzes on the nightstand. When he checks, he finds Patrick’s contact picture behind the FaceTime answer screen. He doesn’t think before he connects the call.

 _“Hey,”_ Patrick greets with a smile. Fuck, Jonny loves his smile, _“This a bad time?”_

Jonny shakes his head and scoots up the bed so that his head is resting more comfortably against the pillow. “Not at all,” he grins back at him, “What are you doing up so early?” He checks the clock. “It’s six-thirty.”

Patrick shrugs. _“My sisters wanted to go on a last-minute Christmas haul at the mall,”_ he says, a pinched expression on his face that makes Jonny laugh, _“They woke me up half an hour ago.”_

That explains the tousled hair and the missing shirt, then. Jonny can’t say he hates the view. “Poor thing,” he coos, “What ever will you do?”

 _“Pout,”_ says Patrick, who pushes out his bottom lip. But it doesn’t last for long and is quickly replaced with a tiny smile. _“Why are_ you _up so early?”_

Jonny wants to kiss him so bad. “Sending you your Christmas gifts.”

The lighting on Patrick’s side of the phone is dim, but Jonny can still make out the pink blush that dusts across his cheeks. _“You know you didn’t have to do that.”_

Jonny feigns stupidity. “How else would I get them to you?”

Patrick sighs and rolls his eyes, but there’s a fondness to it. _“Yeah, well, you keep an eye out, too. You should be getting something within the next couple days.”_

Jonny’s heart clenches. He knew that Patrick would get him something, but there was still the doubt in the back of his mind that thought he might not. Jonny wouldn’t mind, not really. He knows that Patrick has to buy gifts for his parents and his three sisters, plus the plane tickets to and from Buffalo, but it’s still makes a warm feeling bloom behind Jonny’s ribs at the fact that he really did get him something for Christmas. 

“I’ll keep a look-out,” he croaks, then clears his throat. “So, what’s going to be bought in this Christmas haul?” 

He bites his tongue as Patrick replies, because if he doesn’t, he might say something crazy like ‘what are Christmas tights’ or ‘I love you.’

——

_January 2013_

_  
_They set him up for an interview with the media when he gets back to Chicago. There’s been a lot of them lately done by the members of the NHLPA, but Jonny hasn’t done one yet and the Hawks PR team thinks it’s best if he says his peace.

It’s refreshing to see some of the seasoned reporters among the crowd when Jonny steps out and behind the table. Tracey and Chris are up at the front, and they smile at him when he sits down. They’re just as happy to get back into the swing of things as Jonny is. 

Stan starts the press conference by talking about how hopeful he is that the NHL and the NHLPA will come to a decision soon, and how it’s important that everyone gets something good out of it. He talks a little bit about planning, let’s the reporters get baselines for their stories, and then turns it over to Jonny.

“Well, thank you for coming out,” he starts, “It’s great to see so many familiar faces.” 

As much as there are familiar ones, there’s also a good handful of people that Jonny has never seen before. Local news stations and rookie reporters. The lockout has been the focal point of a lot of headlines on the news as of late, but it’s still a little surprising to see camera crews there that want to get his quotes. 

“There’s not really much I can say,” he continues, “except that I feel like we’re finally starting to get somewhere. Hockey’s been gone longer than most of us would have liked, so we're hopeful that things start to clear up soon so that we can get back on the ice and try to bring another Cup home to Chicago.”

After that, Stan opens the floor for questions. The first handful go to Rocky and Stan, talking about costs and what’s the game plan for whenever hockey returns. 

“Jonny,” Mark asks when Stan calls on him, “from your perspective, do you think there’s an end in sight for the lockout? Or is there still a ways to go?” 

Jonny scratches at his chin. The stubble there is itchy as it grows in. He needs to shave. “I think we’re getting closer to reaching an agreement. It’s right there; it just needs a little extra push. I think every player can agree when I say that we want to play hockey again, but it has to be on fair terms.”

There’s a rookie reporter in the front row, with waxed eyebrows and a hint of a sneer who gets called on next. “Jonathan, there’s been pictures of you filtering around since the off-season began, of you in Charleston?”

The muscles in Jonny’s neck tense up, but he keeps his composure. He’s known how to work the press since his second year as an NHL player, and avoiding a gay scandal is no different. “I went with Patrick Sharp and his family on a trip to Charleston over the summer, yes.”

Hands go up again, ready for their questions, but the guy keeps on. “But you’ve gone back repeatedly over the course of the past few months.”

The reporters quiet down at the statement. Jonny knows they’re already picturing headlines for articles on Jonny’s new lady lover. He doesn’t understand why people are so interested in his love life. 

“It’s beautiful down there,” is what he comes up with, shifting forward in his seat to grasp the length of the microphone between his thumb and forefinger, “The lockout gave me extra time to visit.”

He turns his head, a clear dismissal that he’s moving on from the guy and looking for someone else to ask a question, but the guy keeps persisting.

“You’ve been pictured multiple times with the same blond man. I couldn’t find a name, but I have sources that say he lives in Charleston,” he says, giving Jonny a once-over, “He was with you in a café in Chicago right before you left for the lockout meeting in New York.”

The room is silent. Everyone is watching Jonny, waiting for him to say something. A lady lover is one thing, but a _gay lover?_ There would be articles for months. Some are jotting things down on a notepad, others have their recording devices held out towards him. Most are staring at him with surprised expressions. 

Jonny fixes the reporter with a cold, hard stare that pins the guy in his seat, and how dare he. How fucking _dare_ he go looking into Patrick’s life, finding out where he goes, where he _lives,_ tailing him and invading his life like that. Jonny is suddenly, irrevocably enraged. 

“I’m not gay, if that’s what you’re implying,” he says with a little glare and a lot of heat, and it shuts the reporter up, “I’m not in a relationship, and I’d appreciate it if you didn’t stalk my friends.”

Stan puts a careful hand on his shoulder from behind him, and he takes a deep, calculated breath to calm himself. The reporter opens his mouth to respond, so he calls on Tracey loud and clear, voice sharp through the near-silent room. 

“How has the lockout changed your routine, when it comes to practicing and exercising?” She asks. No one mentions Charleston or Patrick again.

——

The interviews go up on the NHL website the next day in the forms of articles and video clips. Sharpy sends him a link to an article that the dumb reporter guy wrote with a separate text that says _‘whipped’_ right after. He knows that Sharpy is just yanking his pigtails, but it makes him angry. That reporter tried to out him. To out _Patrick._ Fuck anyone who finds that article funny. 

Talking to Patrick always helps, so he shoots off a text that says, _‘able to take a call?’_

He makes the decision to skip his afternoon workout. Normally if he’s in a bad mood, a workout will help calm him down, but right now that’s the last thing he wants to do. So he grabs a protein shake, pulls out some pots, and starts boiling some pasta for lunch.

He’s just put the pasta in a colander to cool when his phone chirps. He tosses some chopped veggies into a pan, then checks his phone. One text from Patrick. 

_‘Busy today, srry’_

Jonny frowns and checks the time. He thought for sure Patrick would be on his break by now. With a heavy sigh, he aggressively sautés the vegetables for his pasta primavera and hopes the taste of bile in the back of his throat will go away.

The day drags on with no hockey and no Patrick to keep him busy. He munches on his pasta and holes himself up in his room to watch the Kings game tape. No one tries to call him, and he doesn’t try to call anyone. 

He doesn’t have any luck sleeping, either. There’s a tiny shock of fear that goes through him, and he prays that he’s not in the middle of another insomnia episode. Those things can last for _weeks,_ and he doesn’t need to deal with insomnia on top of the sudden start to the season — whenever that will happen. 

Jonny rolls over onto his stomach with a huff of defeat. He’s ready to give up and start doing stretches or something, but then his eyes fall on his phone that’s lying plugged in on the bedside table and decides to try Patrick again. 

Jonny lies on his back and stares up at his ceiling, listening to the line ring. He’s sure that it’s going to go to voicemail, but at the last second, there’s a _click_ sound and a grumbled, _“Hello?”_

It’s startling, how quickly Jonny relaxes upon hearing Patrick’s voice. It almost makes up for Patrick basically ignoring him for the past day and a half. 

“Hey,” he says, feeling awkward at the silence on the other line, “Haven’t heard from you in a while.”

Patrick scoffs under his breath, and Jonny flinched a little at the sound. “What?”

 _“Nothing,”_ replies Patrick, but his voice is high with an annoyance that Jonny’s never heard, _“What do you want?”_

For a moment, Jonny hesitates. Patrick sounds like he doesn’t want to talk to him, for whatever reason, and he doesn’t want to be a bother. But if Patrick hadn’t had wanted to talk, he wouldn’t have picked up the phone. 

“Just having trouble sleeping,” he responds and plucks at a nerd on his comforter, “I’m used to talking to you before bed.”

 _“Oh,”_ Patrick seethes, venom in his voice, _“Sorry I couldn’t be more of service to you.”_

Jonny furrows his eyebrows. “Service to me—?”

It takes a moment for him to realize that the beeping sound that interrupts him means that Patrick has hung up. He pulls the phone away from his face and looks at it, just in case, and sure enough he’s looking back at Patrick’s contact information. 

Jonny doesn’t sleep that night. 

——

The lockout is over on the 12th. Practice starts up again, the first games of the season are set, and Patrick keeps ignoring Jonny’s calls. 

Jonny puts all of his energy onto the ice, through his stick and his skates and lights it up out there. He’s always played his best when he’s got emotion behind it. 

Eventually, of course, Sharpy and Seabs corner him in the locker room showers, probably thinking that’s where he’s the most vulnerable. But the joke’s on them. Jonathan Toews is a proud nudist and there is nothing that is going to make him want to cover up and hide.

“So,” Sharpy says, standing equally as naked in front of him, “haven’t heard you talk about Patrick in a while.”

There is one talking to that is going to make him want to cover up and hide.

Jonny’s eyes flick over to Seabs in a silent question. Seabs just quirks an eyebrow at him, “You’re really not that subtle.”

Jonny shrinks in on himself when Sharpy adds, softer this time, “The only ones who have caught on are the guys that have known you since you were a rookie. It’s not easy to spot your heart eyes when they look so much like your murder eyes.”

Jonny hopes Patrick isn’t afraid of his murder eyes.

“He doesn’t want to talk to me,” he shrugs, turning to the side to rinse the soap off his body, “He’s made it pretty clear.”

He sees Seabs nod in his peripherals. “Do you know why?”

Jonny really really fucking doesn’t. “No,” he says, slouching in defeat.

“Oh, Tazer,” Sharpy sighs, sympathetic, and squeezes his shoulder tight, “How often have you tried contacting him?”

Jonny turns off the water and grabs a towel, dragging it over his face to dry off and buy himself some time. He really doesn’t want to talk about this. “The first couple days I sent him, like, forty texts,” he shrugs again, “I try calling him almost every day. Lately they’ve been doing straight to voicemail.” He wraps the towel around his waist. “I think he blocked me.”

Seabs and Sharpy share a look. Jonny doesn’t want to be on the receiving end of a pity stare, or even a sympathetic one. He just wants the hurt to go away. 

“I don’t wanna talk about it, okay?” 

He doesn’t realize how small his voice sounds until the words are out of his mouth, but he doesn’t take it back. He just walks out of the showers, gets on his suit, and leaves. 

He should have known that wouldn’t be the end of that conversation, though, because mere minutes after he gets home, Sharpy lets himself in with a bag of takeout and his tiny blonde daughter on his back. 

It’s so reminiscent of way back when — when Sharpy first barged into his home with Maddy and told him that he was coming with them on their vacation. The vacation that started it all. 

Jonny takes Maddy off of Sharpy’s back and holds her, even letting her tug at his hair just so he can get baby cuddles. He sits on the couch and holds her as he watches _River Monsters,_ remembering his and Patrick’s marathon back in Charleston. 

“I’ve never seen you this devastated about a breakup.” Sharpy says after a while, chewing on his Thai food.

Jonny would get some for himself, but then he’d have to jostle Maddy, and she’s dozing against his shoulder. He’ll happily starve if it meant that he could cuddle her as long as possible. 

“It’s not a breakup,” he replies, leaning back into the couch cushions, “We weren’t dating. We just hooked up a lot.”

“And hung out, and went on ‘dates,’” Sharpy drawls, “and you flew him to your condo in Chicago, and cuddled with him when his turtle died.”

“Doesn’t mean we were dating,” Jonny points out.

“But you wanted to,” Sharpy counters.

Jonny doesn’t say anything, which is an answer in itself. Sharpy sighs. “Look kid, I’d stay out of it and let you do your thing if it wasn’t so obviously eating you up.” He motions around Jonny’s body with his hands. “Are you going to let me have my kid back?”

Jonny instinctively tightens his arms around her. She makes a tiny grumbling noise and smacks her lips together, before curling back up against him and going back to sleep. Sharpy gives him a pointed look. Jonny remains silent.

“All I’m saying is,” Sharpy continues, “even if you decide to break off… whatever you want to call it… at least you’ll have some closure.”

Jonny snorts. “Yeah, that would be fantastic,” he says, “except for the fact that he won’t fucking answer his phone.”

Sharpy slurps up a noodle. “When has that ever stopped you before?”

It makes Jonny stop for a minute and question that. When he looks back over at Sharpy, he’s watching Jonny with a knowing eye. He pats Jonny on the knee. “Go get your boy back,” he says, which is how Jonny finds himself boarding a flight to Charleston at four thirty in the morning. 

——

Jonny’s exhausted, his neck has a crick in it from napping uncomfortably on the plane, and the season starts in three days. But here he is, striding down the hallway of Patrick’s apartment complex at seven in the morning because he’s so fucking gone for this kid, _Jesus._

He knocks, then knocks again. Then, he knocks some more. 

The door flies open, and a rumpled, equally-exhausted Patrick stands in the doorway looking absolutely done with life, and it’s the best thing Jonny’s seen since the first time he saw his mom after moving to Chicago. 

“What the hell are you doing here?” Is the first thing that comes out of Patrick’s mouth. Jonny pretends it doesn’t hurt as much as it actually does. 

“Why aren’t you talking to me?” He asks when he’s muscled his way inside. He rears backwards at Patrick’s scoff. “If you didn’t have feelings for me, you could have just said.”

Patrick whips around, eyes filled with fury. _“Me_ not have feelings? _You_ not have feelings!” He shakes his head and corrects himself, _“You_ don’t have feelings for _me._ Don’t pin this on me, fucker.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” Jonny shouts, “I’ve been in love with you since you smashed ice cream in my face, you dipshit!”

Patrick takes a step backwards, stunned, and Jonny flinches and steps back himself. Patrick blinks at him, then blinks again. “You’re in love with me?”

Jonny’s face twists uncomfortably. “Maybe not ‘in love,’ but— yeah. Maybe just ‘love.’”

“‘Just love?’” Patrick says in disbelief.

Jonny scowls at him. “Whatever. It’s not a thing if you don’t want it to be.”

“If I don’t want it to— _yes,_ you moron. I want it to be,” Patrick huffs, “You’re the one who said— you said you weren’t gay.”

“Being bi is a thing, you know.” Jonny glares, then pauses. “Hang on. Is this about that stupid interview?”

Patrick huffs and crosses his arms. “Yes it’s about that stupid interview.” He snaps, “You said you weren’t in a relationship.”

“Because we weren’t,” Jonny shrugs, feeling uncomfortable in his own skin, which is a hard feat to come by, “We hadn’t put a label on anything yet. I wasn’t ready to be out, and that reporter was so fucking annoying. I didn’t know you’d take it as me not wanting anything to do with you except being a vacation hookup.” 

He watches as Patrick’s face softens, as his anger disappears and reveals the hurt underneath. Jonny feels his chest tighten. “You’ve always been more than that.”

Patrick frowns, and then his eyes get glassy. Jonny feels his resolve crumbling. “Oh, come here.” He says and holds out his arms, and Patrick walks right into them, stuffing his face into Jonny’s neck. “There’s no crying in hockey.”

“You’re such an ass.” Patrick sniffles. Jonny holds him, taking in the feel of having Patrick in his arms again, the hope that things might go back to normal. “I’m sorry I shut you out.”

Jonny squeezes him tighter. “I should have talked to you a long time ago — asked what we were or what you were comfortable with.” He tilts his head so that he can press a gentle kiss into Patrick’s hair. “At the least, I should have given you a heads up after the interview. Sometimes I forget that I’m not the only one affected by the media.”

“We’re shit at communicating,” is Patrick’s muffled agreement. His mouth has suctioned itself to Jonny’s skin. 

“We are,” Jonny nods, and slides his hand into Patrick’s curls, “Will you be my boyfriend?”

Patrick bites down hard on Jonny’s shoulder, enough that it’s going to leave a bruise and some teeth marks. Jonny hisses and glares at Patrick when he pulls away. “Is that a no?”

“Oh no, it’s definitely a yes,” Patrick says, “But you _so_ owe me flowers.”

“I’ll make the centerpiece a stuffed turtle.” Jonny commends, and pulls Patrick in for a kiss. 

Every time Jonny thinks he knows what’s like to kiss Patrick, he’s always turned upside down. Every new kiss has him forgetting what it felt like before, swept up in the newness of each one, all the emotions hidden beneath it — relief, desperation, an edge of heat. Jonny’s never been with someone who can kiss so well that it leaves him wondering what the next one will be like, and suddenly he never wants to be with anyone that can’t. 

He doesn’t want to be with anyone that isn’t Pat. 

Patrick pulls away first, which is terrible news, but then he says, “You should fuck me,” and Jonny thinks he can forgive him. 

——

(There’s a picture of them in their bedroom, framed, hanging just above the headboard, right beside the picture of Rosie. It’s on Boston ice, the Cup clutched in their hands and held high above their heads. Patrick’s wearing the sweatshirt Jonny left for him, the one with the fringed string. Patrick’s kissing him, even with Jonny’s terrible beard. Patrick loves stubble, but hates the playoff beard. 

However: it is important to note that beard burn between the thighs is great no matter what, but is even better when acquired during Cup sex.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things that did not have room for in the fic but should be noted:
> 
> — Jonny does get Patrick those flowers, and the turtle centerpiece sits on their dresser, staring down at them as a reminder to always talk about their feelings
> 
> — Patrick takes the job in Chicago and moves in with Jonny
> 
> — Jonny donates $100,000 every year to the South Carolina Aquarium Turtle Hospital, Rescue & Release 
> 
> — D.D. Pecker’s is a real place in Charleston that is, in fact, covered in Philly sports decorations. 
> 
> — Loggerhead’s is a real place as well. Lots of sports themes. (However, there’s a lot of Philly stuff there as well)
> 
> — And of course, they live happily ever after. The end.


End file.
